Denial and Small Smiles
by justabadger
Summary: "This potion, the Draught of Letch, will allow you to see what your heart most desires. The more specific the showing, the stronger the desire." Draco groaned inwardly as Slughorn began reading off pairs from his messy scroll - with his luck, he would end up with some imbecile like Boot or, worse, the know-it-all herself, Granger. "...Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One **

After the War, the funerals were endless and the dust settled only to leave a clear view of the rubble left behind.

Draco Malfoy was unsure of what to do for the first time in his life. The war may have torn him apart, but becoming a Death Eater to keep his family alive was never an option. So there he was, sitting in the Malfoy's vacation home in France, staring at his Hogwarts letter.

Draco never expected to be invited back - after all, he let Death Eaters into the school and tried to kill Dumbledore. His actions during the war were less than impressive and his main focus now was to rebuild the Malfoy family name and hope not to be shunned for the rest of his life.

But sitting there was the letter that gave him a choice. With his father in Azkaban and his mother under house arrest, he was the only one in his family able to carry on without restriction. All thanks to Harry Potter. Harry Bloody Potter.

All Draco wanted was to be independent, away from his stupid burden to the Saviour of Wizarding World. Taking a look around him, around that small home that was darker than it should be on such a pretty, late summer day, he realized that accepting this letter would take him back to all the bad memories, back to Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio, and perhaps back to an opportunity for a better future. He knew that some of his friends wouldn't return - Vince would never even have the opportunity. Pansy probably would return, even after the whole "give-him-Potter" fiasco. Draco knew that her parents valued education too much, even if it was for social reasons. Blaise would go, even if he was a bit colder to Draco than he'd been before the hell of the War, but Draco thought that was fine - the more Slytherins, the better. He thought of his classes, Quidditch, and all the other things normal teenagers would look forward to.

Draco was so busy thinking about his possible future he did not notice the rustle of grass outside or the wards being set off. He did notice, however, when there was a hesitant knock at the door.

Walking to the entrance, Draco's mind raced; he wasn't expecting anyone and Merlin knew he had enough to do without the distraction of guests. Opening up the door, his cold Slytherin façade broke for a moment when he saw the very epitome of all he was trying to avoid and forget.

"Potter?"

*The Gryffindor blinked at Draco.

Draco blinked back.

Then he slammed the door in Potter's face.

"What the bloody –? Malfoy! Open the door," Draco heard Potter squawk through the wooden entrance. The blonde leaned back against the thin barricade, thoughts frozen as he continued to hear angry mutters from the other side. Why the fuck was _Potter_ – "The Boy Who Conquered Death Twice" or whatever in the world the _Prophet_ was calling him this week – at his supposedly heavily-warded home in France? Was he here to drag him to Azkaban single-handedly? But the trials had already happened! And Potter had vouched for him, even!

Draco took a deep breath, donning his infamous Malfoy aura before straightening and turning to the door. No way was he going to Azkaban without a fight – even if it meant harming the bloody Saviour, the clot of a man he had a life-debt to.

Draco slowly opened the door again, coolly gazing at the indignant Potter who stood on his stoop. "Lost, Potter?"

Emerald eyes burned with simmering annoyance as they pierced his stone gaze. "Not quite, Malfoy. May I come in?" The civil words seemed to pain Potter as they eked out of his mouth. Draco was hesitant for just a moment, but he realized that if Potter had already found out where he was living, had gotten through his wards, and seemed to think he had the power to order Draco around – then, well, Potter probably did have the power to do just about whatever he liked. But that didn't mean Draco was going to be cooperative.

"Yes, please, O Holy One, grace my humble hovel with your presence," Draco drawled sarcastically, bowing ironically while waving an arm to welcome Potter into his home. Potter scowled, but walked in, letting Draco shut the door behind him.

The front door opened up into the large room that served as a kitchen, dining room, and parlour, allowing Potter awkwardly shuffle in before perching himself on the arm of the couch. Draco just narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms while staring down the other eighteen-year-old.

"Well…?" Draco finally said impatiently after a few moments of heavy silence.

Potter reached inside his robes, causing Draco to have a sudden flash of panic, the long scar on his chest seeming to throb momentarily. But Potter didn't hex him, he merely held out an average-length wand, dark and simply carved. It took Draco another second of silence, but then he recognized the stick.

His pale, once-flawless (now covered with still-healing nicks and callouses from his harsh treatment during the War) hand darted out, snatching the hawthorn wand out of Potter's grasp. His lips parted slightly in wonder as he cradled the wood he never thought he'd see again. Warmth rushed through his fingertips, a feeling of rightness filling the hole he hadn't even really noticed was there.

"You're welcome. Now I have to go meet with _Witch Weekly_ for some barmy interview about my 'ability to woo witches with my wand' or something, and then have dinner with Teddy and Andromeda, so pardon me, Malfoy," Harry sighed, sounding harassed as he began heading for the door.

"Wait, Potter. Andromeda –?" Surely it wasn't his estranged aunt… Andromeda was a relatively common name, right?  
"Andromeda Tonks. She's your aunt or something, isn't she, Malfoy?" A bitter twist came to Potter's smirk. "Oh, but that's right – your family shunned her for marrying a Muggle." Potter regarded Draco with mild disgust. "Merlin knows she is a better witch than the rest of your family ever was. But I guess they got what they deserved in the end."

Malfoy's eyes flashed with rage, his body reacting before his mind really caught up. A silver flash of light shot from the end of his newly-repossessed wand, hitting an off-guard Potter straight in between the eyes.

Time seemed to slow as Draco watched Potter fall to the floor, his head hitting the dark chestnut boards with a dull _thud_.

"P-Potter?" Draco called softly, tentatively shuffling closer to the fallen figure. His eyes widened as he finally saw what the spell had done.

"Well, fuck."

**End Chapter One **


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story was written for fun and fun only!~

*****Author's Notes: I tried to save this note in the first chapter, but it didn't work so I am posting it now. This story is a collaboration between 606 and I. It is our first story we have written together, and my first multi-chapter story ever. We are excited to finally post it and we hope you enjoy! Chapters will be posted every Monday around 10 pm.*

**Chapter Two **

*Waking up from his foggy daze, Harry Potter noticed the silk sheets he laid on, then the blue walls surrounding him. Next the memories came flooding back, closely followed by the rage. Jumping out of bed with wand raised, momentarily delayed by an altercation with the twisted sheets around his legs, Harry stormed into the quaint living room.

Harry stopped dead at the scene laid out before him. Draco Malfoy, his arch-nemesis, paced back in forth in front of the couch, mumbling frantic things that Harry could barely make out: things like "Well, I'm never going back to Hogwarts now!" and "What the fuck did I _do_? _Why_ do I always manage to fuck up _everything_?"

Harry had had thoughts of revenge on his mind when he had raged into that room, but seeing Malfoy in such a state reminded him of a place he never wished to be again. Everything seemed too familiar, too much like déjà vu. It seemed similar to that fateful night in that Hogwarts' lavatory when everything got out of hand, when emotions had been running too high, everything blurred with confusion, suspicion, and pain. Harry regretted that night more than anything else that he had done during the War - sure, Malfoy had tried to _Crucio_ him, but the aftermath of that fateful _Sectumsepra_ was worse than any momentary agony of the Unforgivable.

Harry thought then that if he truly wanted things to change after the War, after all of the bloodshed and discrimination, he needed to change himself first. And after all this time, things still seemed to start with Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" Harry called, deciding to break the random mumblings that echoed through the cavernous room.

Malfoy jumped, turning around faster than the Gryffindor thought possible. The Slytherin stared with bright slate eyes as Harry stepped closer into the room. His mumblings had stopped and left in their place was cold silence and the frozen tundra of Draco's expression. "Potter - you're awake."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Malfoy. Now, what did you do to me?" Harry demanded in the most civil voice he could muster.

"Surely the Saviour of the Wizarding World should know what spells hit him? Oh right, He-Who-Killed-the-Dark-Lord is too skilled to get hit by spells, isn't he?" Malfoy drawled sardonically.

Harry turned red, fuming at the blond-haired boy in front of him. _Why does he have to such a wanker? I'm trying to be polite. _"I'm trying to be nice here, Malfoy. Just tell me what you did and how long I have been out, and I'll be on my way."

"Why haven't you tried to kill me yet?" Malfoy asked suddenly, avoiding Harry's demands. Harry observed him and saw the distress in Malfoy's eyes that pierced through his mask.

"I'm not sure, Malfoy. I suppose I'm tired of fighting, tired of curses and hexes and stupid school feuds." Harry replied wearily, a bit of bitterness on his tongue. He could have sworn he heard Malfoy mumble something that sounded like "always the noble one" but didn't validate the petty remark with a response.

"You have only been out an hour or so," Malfoy answered Harry's earlier question. "I hit you with a Punching Curse, basically the equivalent of a physical blow but with perhaps a little more painful and definitely more satisfaction...on my end, at least."

Harry stared at the blonde, trying to decide what to do. If Ron were here, he would go red in the face and most likely kill Malfoy - at least hex him a good bit. Hermione would probably alert the nearest adult. Ginny, well, he didn't want to think about what she would do.

Tearing Harry away from his thoughts, Malfoy spoke with a barely-noticeable quiver in his voice, "Well, what are you going to do to me?"

Harry suddenly spotted the letter on the table. "Are you going back to Hogwarts?"

"Why do you care, Potter?" The cross boy evaded the question hotly.

"I don't know whether I am going back. Too many memories," Harry pondered quietly, almost to himself, pensive-like. "I'd like to think that if we both do go back, maybe we could start over and not fight in the hallways after every class."

Once the thought was hovering around them like a lingering enchantment, Harry looked up and caught the brief stunned look on Malfoy's face. Hoping that maybe he hadn't cocked up everything just yet, Harry cautiously tried again... "We are better off ignoring each other, yeah?"

Malfoy's expression hardened again and the tentative hope that had filled his eyes morphed back into toughened ice. "I think that could be arranged, Potter. The time I have to spend with the Golden Trio in class is sickening enough - wouldn't want to have to prolong it in detention," Malfoy stated with vehemence.

Wisely ignoring that, Harry put out his hand, willing Malfoy to take it. He looked into the silver-grey eyes of a boy whom he'd known for as long as he'd known he was a wizard. Keeping the eye contact, Harry tried to express how he sometimes wished he had taken that exact same hand on the train years ago, tried to express how he wished that the past few years hadn't been filled with all the suffering, and how maybe their lives aren't as different as they thought. Reaching out, Harry couldn't help but feel that this handshake could be the start of a new beginning and the closing of a war-filled childhood.

"Shall we call a truce, Draco?"

_*"Shall we call a truce, Draco?"_ The words rang hollowly in Draco's ears as he stared down at Potter's rough palm, hardened from years of wand work and physical labour.

A _truce_?

How in the name of Merlin's saggy trousers did this afternoon turn into this? Draco could clearly remember that the confrontation between Potter and himself had started out like it should have – searing remarks on Draco's end, and building exasperation and anger on Potter's end. Of course, then Potter had to be all bloody… thoughtful (Draco cringed at the compliment to Potter, even if it was just in his head) and return his wand. Then, Potter had insulted his family and things had just gotten out of hand.

Now, for some reason, instead of Potter wanting to cart him off to Azkaban or turn his body into a cantaloupe or something, Potter was mirroring the offer Draco had expressed those seven years ago in that small, rattling train compartment. Well, not _exactly_ the offer Draco had made all those years ago, Draco thought with a growing glower. He'd offered Potter friendship back then – Potter was now suggesting total avoidance, a world where they acted as though the other didn't exist.

Thoughts continued to whorl in Draco's head as Potter slowly raised his eyebrows at the Slytherin's lack of response. A part of Draco was screaming that he push Potter away and kick him out of his house for daring to treat Draco like he was doing him a favour, that Potter was the better man in the situation. The other part of Draco was shouting that he clasp that warm hand, guaranteeing at least a chance to grovel and beg his way into the new, Light world order. And, who knew, a miniscule, sly shadow in Draco's brain commented, there might even been the possibility of this truce turning into an alliance with Potter, which would open the doors Draco would need if he was to ever regain the prestige of the past Malfoy family.

Potter apparently got tired of Draco's silence, pulling his hand back and shoving it into his rumpled robes. "Whatever, Malfoy. I suppose I'm done trying to save your barmy family. Have fun being spat on in the streets," he sneered as he turned to exit, pulling out his wand to no doubt contact the people he'd stood up while in his state of unconsciousness.

A flash of panic shot through Draco as Potter's hand reached for the front door. "Wait, Potter!" Potter's hand paused, his head slowly turning to stare at the ex-Death Eater.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

Draco gapped for a moment, scrambling to think of words to articulate his jumbled mess of thought. "I a-accept your truce, Potter. I'll be civil at Hogwarts," the corners of Harry's mouth twitched upwards as if to express his wry doubt of Draco's future success, "_if_ you promise to try and keep your Gryffindor thugs from taking the piss out of the Slytherins who're coming back."

The two boys gazed at each other, both pairs of eyes burning with resolve. "Fine," Potter finally agreed. The Gryffindor turned to stare at the dark wood of the front door, suddenly rolling his eyes to the heavens in a plea. "I dunno why I humour you like this, Malfoy, really," Draco heard the boy mutter to himself.

"Well, I'll see you on the train, then, Malfoy. Oh, I'd write back to McGonagall sooner rather than later – she has to know how many beds to put in the new dormitories. So long, Malfoy," Potter nodded at the Slytherin before opening the front door and leaving Draco alone with is thoughts.

Well, this was going to be an… interesting year.

Wait, what had Potter said about new dormitories?

**End Chapter Two **


	3. Chapter 3

*Disclaimer: Do not own- written for fun and fun only*

A/N: Many, many apologies! Thank you to everyone who has written a review! They are so appreciated and I pinkie promise that I will reply within the week and be quicker to reply in the future! Also, I owe a huge apology to my co-writer, 606, who is gracious enough to stick with me through my procrastination and forgetfulness. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter Three **

Draco sulked quietly by the window in his compartment on the train, the rattling of the metal frame surrounding the glass fraying his already stretched nerves. He hated boarding the train. In fact, he hated the whole process of getting to bloody Hogwarts. He'd had to do it entirely by himself this year, as his mother wasn't allowed to leave the Manor for any reason, and his father – Draco cut off that line of thought.

The blond regarded the scenes of familial chaos from his compartment. Fathers were helping their children board their trunks, mothers were giving last-minute hugs or reminders to their quivering offspring, pets were squawking and mewling, unhappy with the commotion. Overall chaos.

A small part of Draco, the part that had been suppressed since he'd been six years old and had begun his 'training' to be a Malfoy heir – which pretty much just gave his parents an excuse to not see him for weeks on end as he studied with tutors, wished that someone, anyone, was here to fuss and worry about him.

"Draco! There you are! Merlin, we were beginning to think you were skiving off this year to brood in France for a while longer."

*"Oh, sod off, Blaise. I didn't see you prancing off in Diagon Alley, either," Draco sneered.

"Now, now Draco, we just missed you, didn't we, Pansy?" Theodore Nott interjected.

"Of course, we did, Theo, dear. Now, Draco, tell us about your summer. We all need something to distract us from the First Years running around trying to catch a sight of the 'Golden Boy', that over-indulged Harry Potter," Pansy replied cheerfully, her eyes rolling inelegantly at Potter's title.

At the mention of Potter, something strange in Draco's stomach flickered. If he wasn't a Malfoy, he might have questioned this new emotion – however, he was a Malfoy, with all the hereditary lack of emotional maturity that came with the pale, grey-eyed genes. He had no reason to think anything about Potter anyway.

Just as Draco was about to reply with a flippant remark, the "Golden Boy" himself decided to make appearance, causing the bottom of Draco's stomach to mysteriously disappear. "Malfoy," Potter nodded, giving his greeting. "Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, Goyle - welcome back."

The other four gaped at Potter's greeting before remembering who they were and eying him with suspicion. Potter spoke again before any sharp remarks could cut through the air. "You guys haven't seen Neville's toad, have you? Trevor seems to have gone missing. Some things never change, eh?" Potter stated with a grin that seemed to radiate warmth into the icy compartment.

"No, I'm happy to say we haven't seen Longbottom's slimy pet, Potter. Is there anything else you wanted?" Draco said, keeping his face calm.

"Nah, just wanted to welcome everyone back and say 'hey'. Anyway, see you once we get to school, Draco - I imagine we will all be seeing quite a lot of each other this year," Potter replied with a wink before strolling out of the compartment, oblivious to Pansy's shocked face and Theo's sputtering.

The Slytherin's compartment was completely silent.

Blaise broke the spell with "What the fuck was that about, Draco?"

Draco hesitated. "Well, Blaise, if you _must_ know, Potter stopped by over the summer and gave me my wand back. After a little discussion - and a couple hexes - we settled upon a truce. As for the other stuff, well, I have no clue what he was talking about."

Draco awaited the curses and blatant yells of criticism about stupid truces with the Gryffindors, so naturally he was shocked when Blaise smirked. _Smirked_. "Ah," was all Theo could come up with although Draco thought he looked a bit smug. Pansy, at least, seemed to be reacting normally because she was frowning, while the perpetually silent Greg just stared at Draco with a confused wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"_'Ah?_' What the hell is wrong with all you? Why are you not shrieking at me? And what is with that bloody smirk, Blaise? You and Theo look like you have just won a bet..." Draco noted suspiciously.

Just then, the train pulled to a stop, with their conversation halting as well, much to Draco's chagrin. The five friends gathered their luggage and set off towards the carriages.

Pulling up to the castle, Harry's breath caught. Hogwarts looked perfect - exactly how it did before the Battle. Even though so much had changed and happened over the years, Harry couldn't help but feel that he was coming home. After all, so many important moments of his life had happened at this school and he wouldn't let the bad memories ruin it.

It was a little disheartening to see the shocked faces of his classmates when they saw the thestrals and Harry still had trouble talking to Dennis Creevey, but he knew that Hogwarts was still his home and that the sadness left in everyone's hearts couldn't last forever – the pain would soon numb to a throbbing existence in the back of the soul, then would fade away enough to merely be a shadow hovering on the edge of the mind, never completely gone, but not oppressing any longer. Harry spoke from experience.

After everyone had settled into the Great Hall and the First Years were sorted into their Houses, Headmistress McGonagall got up to give the start of the year speech. The Hall went quiet. "Thank you and welcome back to Hogwarts! This school year will see many changes, as we have all changed ourselves. While the castle may appear like it has never been harmed, many of us are still haunted by our memories of that fateful night in May. I am so very proud of all of you and I know Professor Dumbledore would be as well," a twinkle reminiscent of the fallen headmaster sparkled in the Headmistress' eyes. "There are so many of you sitting out at your tables that fought to protect this school; fought to protect your families and your friends; fought to protect the Wizarding World as we know it. There are so many of you young adults that have sacrificed everything for this school. And while some of you never got the childhood you deserved, you have come out to be wise and mature adults. Much like how we stood together this past May, we must unite together this year. We must help each other, comfort each other when the nightmares and memories become too much. We must help each other thrive and progress this year so that we become a stronger, more unified community. While we are divided into four Houses, we must use our different skills and personalities to work towards a common goal. We must have House unity. The War might be over, but there is another fight ahead of us. Together, we can erase the feelings of hatred and build new friendships. This year will not be easy, but if we stand tall, we can blend the lines that divide us." McGonagall turned her eyes away from the hundreds of attentive students to face one particularly messy-haired one.

"And on that note, I would like to give a toast to Harry Potter, whose bravery saved us all." Harry felt the flush creep up his neck and hit his cheeks. As the glasses went up, Harry glanced around the Hall and met eye contact with Malfoy, who looked at him with amused, unsympathetic eyes and a small smile playing on his lips. Harry grinned weakly as Ron clapped on the back, but the grin was for his new ally. He looked away from the Slytherin once McGonagall started to speak again.

"Now, as I mentioned earlier, there will be quite a few changes this year. To start with, I would like to introduce our new professors..." Harry zoned out, only looking up to applaud when a new name was announced for the D.A.D.A. position. He was thinking about McGonagall's speech and the talk he had with her earlier. He knew the next announcement she was about to make, but he couldn't help but feel pressure on his shoulders. He knew that many of the younger students looked up to him and it was his job to set the example of House unity and whatever - that had been part of the reason he had set the truce with Malfoy... But a part of him just wished that he could be completely normal this year; he had waited seven years to be free of Voldemort and have a normal school year without so much pressure, but it seemed he could never catch a break.

He was pulled out of his mental brooding by Hermione who poked him in the arm quite harshly and whispered, "She is about to announce it!" Harry looked up and tried his hardest to pay attention, trying to shake off the feeling of someone staring at him.

"Lastly, this announcement is regarding the oldest of our students returning. These students will now be known as Eighth Years, due to the fact that some either did not attend school last year, or attended but did not receive a proper education. In honour of our House Unity efforts, these students will also be sharing a dorm. You will all keep your respective houses but will be living together in one of the Northern Towers.

"While points will be awarded and deducted from your separate houses, you will live together, as well as eat together. A new table will be added to the Great Hall where you all must eat together. Classes will be separate for Eighth Years, partly because you will be attending them together, and partly because new classes will be added just for your benefit.

"As the oldest and most experienced of the students at Hogwarts, I am counting on all of you to set the example for our new unified school. I hope to see new friendships formed and the history between all of you forgiven.

"Professor Flitwick will show you to your dorms. For the rest of you, I bid you all goodnight. Classes will start tomorrow so I shall see everyone at breakfast. I hope you all have a wonderful school year!" *The scrapping of hundreds of wooden stools against the stone floor and the sounds of dozens of new conversations beginning filled the air of the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the new Eighth Year Gryffindors stood, searching through the swarming crowds for Professor Flitwick's small, bobbing head.

The miniscule Charms teacher stood near the Head table, the group of familiar students coalescing in front of him. Short, white-blond hair caught Harry's eye, but he didn't turn to stare at Malfoy, not wanting to give off the impression he was obsessed or anything. "Alright, is everyone here?" The almost-dwarf squeaked. The seventeen and eighteen-year-olds murmured in assent, their voices echoing in the emptied Hall. "Splendid! Now, follow me!"

Draco, Pansy, Theo, Blaise and Greg were at the back of the moving group of eighth-years. They trailed the too-familiar pack of teenagers, the small cliques already forming as they made their way to the previously-uninhabited North Tower.

The Ravenclaw group was co-ed, the girls and boys mixing more evenly then the other groups, their minds less focused on the hormonal needs than the others of their age. The Hufflepuff boys were chatting joyously, happy to be reunited with their old friends, while the girls were linked arm-in-arm, talking with some of the remaining Gryffindors. The prideful lions were an overwhelming presence, depleted in number but refilled with their glorified righteousness. They seemed to glow with victory, and the rest of the other Light Houses seemed to absorb the limelight. The handful of remaining snakes just observed unemotionally.

They'd known it would come to this, after all.

The Slytherin group was the smallest, followed by the Gryffindors. Pansy and Tracey Davis were the only two girls to come back, as the rest of the female Slytherins had fled the country with their families, or had transferred to safer schools for descendants of the Dark movement. The Greengrass's had actually been brutally slaughtered by unidentified ex-Death Eater hunters, but the Aurors weren't looking into the case too seriously… as expected. So, with only two girls and four boys, the Slytherin cluster was merely hoping to not be overwhelmed by the terrorism and hazing that would no doubt come their way in the next months.

Draco noticed idly that the Golden Trio was right in the middle of the pack of seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, the heart and soul of all of the pride. A sudden, nostalgic jolt of hatred shot through the blonde as the many moving stairways led them all higher and higher. Perfect Potter and all his slobbering minions. How could he even forget for a moment that _he_ was the centre of all of this? And, of course, Potter was probably soaking all of the attention up like a shrivelled sponge.

But that thought didn't seem to fit with the embarrassed and sheepish look Potter had flashed Draco at the feast. A small crease appeared between Draco's eyebrows as he began to question one of the core pillars of his ever-lasting hatred of Harry Potter. Did Potter really enjoy all of the attention? He'd never seemed happy about any of the articles written about him, or when he would be the only topic of conversation heard in the castle for weeks on end… Draco decided to think about it later.

"Alright, now everyone listen up! Shush!" Flitwick's voice carried out over the chattering group of survivors. Draco peered up over the heads of the crowd in front of him, catching sight of a large expanse of cream-colored stone, void of decoration. It reminded Draco more of the Slytherin common room's entrance than any of the others'. "Now, considering most of you are more familiar with using a password than having to answer a question like the Ravenclaws, this entrance will accept a password for access. I'm sure most of you are familiar with the concept of keeping this password to yourselves and not having in spread about the school – it's for your security, after all. So!" Flitwick turned to face the cream wall, clearing his throat. "_Abditum_!"

There was a sudden noise similar to a plunger being pulled from a drain, causing many of the students to look around in bewilderment, but the stone wall seemed to melt into the floor, leaving a large archway, about three people wide. Flitwick turned back to the surprised bunch of students. "Come on in, eighth-years!"

A few brave Hufflepuffs entered first, followed by the rest of the forty or so boys and girls. Draco raised his eyebrows as he first laid eyes on his new home. The walls were a soothing off-white, similar to the stone entranceway. The room was dominated by the many monstrous windows stretching around the wide tower. The thick moonlight spilled into the room, painting the different-coloured sofas with crystal light. There were eight sofas of varying length scattered around the room, forming little pockets of solitude. Two were coloured a soft gold, two a muted silver, two a dull bronze, and two an undemanding black. Clearly the staff was trying to be unbiased and unifying in their colour choices – merging all of the Houses' secondary colours to form a pleasing palette of earthy, elegant tones. Towering bookshelves filled in the spaces between the arching windows, their shelves filled with volumes of every subject matter. There were a few chess tables tucked into the corners near the dominating fireplace, the pieces wiggling with life.

Draco turned in a slow circle, many other doing the same, taking in the new environment. On either side of the archway they'd entered through were a set of stairs, no doubt leading to the new dormitories and restrooms. A few tapestries depicting lazily observing nymphs and woodland creatures adorned some of the emptier spaces on the walls. Overall, Draco approved of the room. It was change, but who said that had to be a bad thing?

A few girls (probably those easily-startled Patil twins, Draco guessed) gasped in fright – the fireplace had suddenly flared to life with green flames, a tall, dark figure twirling and strolling out of the blaze, immediately followed by another similarly-shaped being. One of the new arrivals was a man with an ice-blue eye and short-cropped, auburn hair, a snaking, thin scar trailing over the empty socket of one of his eyes. He loomed over the group, his otherwise classically attractive face twisting in an amused smirk at the stares and startled faces. The other was a woman, as startlingly tall as the man. Her body was straight and covered with dark robes, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows in an endearing way. She had an un-amused expression, the warmth in her red-rimmed pupils not matching the cold look dawning her handsome features. She had common brown hair pulled back in a loose braid, grey sprouting at the roots and temples. The air of pure magical power around the two focused everyone's attention, even little Professor Flitwick's.

"Good evening," the woman said in a no-nonsense tone, her voice deep and rolling like thunder. "I'm Professor Odeda Robur, and, if you were paying attention at the feast," Draco noticed with amusement that her judgemental eyes ran over Potter for a moment, causing him to blush slightly, "you'll know that I will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. I look forward to working with you veterans. I'm sure we will have much to teach each other." Draco immediately liked the woman, her very presence demanding respect. _Maybe she's related to McGonagall_, Draco thought briefly before the man spoke.

"And, as it was also announced, I'm Avner Sagax and I will be teaching Muggle Studies, may Miss Burbage rest in peace." A few of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had fleeting expressions of sorrow for a moment, a thought for their fallen professor. "My course has also been extended to include the developing Muggle-Wizard relations and the budding plans of sharing our existence with the Muggle world, so I hope a few more of you decide to pursue the subject, even if not for your N.E. but only for entertainment." The dangerous-looking man grinned at his captive audience, having shocked the students into silence. Even Draco was impressed by the man's charisma. _He sure knows how to lure new students into a once-boring class,_ Draco thought with respect.

Flitwick piped up. "Because the eighth-year situation is so new, and the staff did not want to upset the balance of male and female Heads, both Professor Sagax and Professor Robur will be the Heads to this new House. Feel free to approach either in case of emergency or if you are in need of advice or aid. They will also be dealing with the enforcement of the rules for you, and the modification and distribution of the password. Well, Professors, I'm sure you have them all covered, so I'll leave you to it. See you in class tomorrow!" Flitwick bounced out of the common room, waving to some of his old Ravenclaws on the way.

The new Heads gazed out at their new charges. "Very well, it's rather late, so let's get the bed situation dealt with, shall we?" Professor Robur boomed with her authoritative voice. "There are two rooms for the girls – one with six beds and one with ten. We're not dealing with any of that House confrontation anymore, we're too old for that and have seen too much death. So, the old Gryffindor girls and Slytherin girls will be staying in the smaller room, while the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws will be in the other. Any complaints?" There was silence. Professor Robur smirked slightly. "I didn't think so."

"And it's a similar layout for the boys," Professor Sagax continued. "Slytherins and Gryffindors together in the nine-bed room, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the eleven-bed room. You got problems with it, take care of it yourselves. Like Professor Robur was saying, you all are too old to be having childhood squabbles anymore over little things like House principles." There was a note of dismissal in the tone. "Girls on the left, boys on the right. Oh, and don't try and enter the other sex's rooms. You don't want to know what will happen. We don't need any Feticide Brews going around, got it?"

The mass of students nodded before splitting, heading up their respective staircases. Draco gave Pansy an encouraging smile as she made a face at him, clearly not wanting to go to her new Gryffindor-filled bedroom. But as she turned away, Draco's face fell into a similar frown. How the hell was he going to survive an entire year with the stress of exams on his shoulders while having to deal with hatred from his roommates? At least Blaise, Theo, and Greg would be there with him.

"Well, could be worse," Draco heard Blaise mutter under his breath as the pack of Slytherin boys stepped through the wooden door of their new dorm. The room was long and rectangular, a feat Draco wasn't sure was possible in a circular tower. Magic, oh well. Five beds were clustered around one end of the room, while four were at the other. At least there was still a slight line of House distinction. There was a small fireplace at each end, and the boys' trunks already deposited at the ends of their new beds by house-elves, no doubt. The Slytherins made their way to their beds, noting the plain white sheets, but silver blankets. The beds themselves were made of a warm, solid wood, impartial to Houses. Draco saw that the beds at the other end had gold blankets, clearly for the couple of Gryffindors already settling in.

The black one, Dean Thomas he vaguely remembered, and the Irish one who Draco couldn't remember the name of (Draco had heard rumours that those two were actually a couple, but he wasn't sure he believed it. The Irish one was definitely gay, though.) were unpacking some of the items from their trunks, sticking up posters on the stone walls next to their beds. Draco turned to look out one of the windows next to his bed, amazed by the view of the shimmering lake, and the glowing pinpricks of light from the windows of the two other towers he could see. He'd been living in the dungeons ever since he came to Hogwarts, underground and filled with the murky green light from the lake water; it was unnerving and thrilling to suddenly be so high, to see what Hogwarts looked like to owls, phoenixes and other soaring creatures.

Theo and Blaise were talking about the new professors, but Draco could only hear the distant hum of their voices as the door to their bedrooms opened, admitting Potter, Weasley and Longbottom. Draco watched the Golden Boy as his emerald eyes swept the room, the deep orbs connected with Draco's silver ones for a long moment. A quick flash of Potter's teeth-filled grin was Draco's reward. A flush crept up Draco's cheekbones for some strange reason.

No doubt sharing a room with Potter and his henchmen for a year was going to be an adventure.

If only Draco was better at coping with adventures.

**End Chapter Three **


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Again, do not own.

A/N: Wow, sorry guys. I am apparently really, really awful at posting at a regular time. I am also still working on replying to your reviews. I promise I love them; my life is for some reason super hectic right now. So many apologies! Also, if the topic suddenly changes or it goes straight from Harry's perspective to Draco's without any warning, it has something to do with the fact that the formatting is not saving. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 4**

"Mate, wake up. We have to get our schedules at breakfast this morning and I promised Hermione we'd actually try to pass our N.E. ." Harry groaned, swatting at the pillow Ron lobbed at his messy-haired head.

"Grrrmph," Harry mumbled into his pillow, chasing the last dregs of cosy sleep.

Ron sighed. "Fine, whatever. But I'm going to take a shower before the snakes get in. Merlin, I'd rather poke my eyes out with a spoon than have to see Malfoy, Nott, Zabini or Goyle taking a shower." The ginger shuddered dramatically as he quietly slipped out of his bed to retrieve his washing things from his trunk.

Harry was suddenly wide awake, his thoughts floating to a steam-filled room with a particularly pale-skinned body with a head of short, white-blond hair. Pink tinged his face, and he quickly reprimanded his disgusting mind. The brunet sat up, peering out of his bed's curtains to gaze out across the slumbering dormitory. All of the Slytherins' beds were closed off by their grey curtains, and a flash of something near disappointment flared up in Harry's stomach.

"You comin', mate?"

Harry shook off his ridiculous feelings. "Yeah, just let me grab my robes."

"'Morning!" Hermione greeted jovially from where she sat at the new eighth-year table, beaming when Ron leaned down to peck her lightly on the mouth. Harry just grinned at the pair, rolling his eyes as he began buttering his toast. He was happy for his friends – Merlin knew they'd danced around each other long enough. "I asked Professor McGonagall for our schedules, and I'm really excited! Professor Robur and Professor Sagax are sure to teach fascinating courses." She leaned over, pointing at something on Ron's and Harry's schedules. "If you see, we also have something called 'Coping with War: Transfiguring Pain to Normalcy' after lunch. From what I know, we're learning methods to deal with our memories from the War. A lot of kids are torn up about it still. Well, we all are, I guess." The three were quiet for a moment, too many dark memories lingering in the air around them.

"But, anyways, I've already started organizing the timetables for our study sessions for the N.E. . You two didn't take the O. seriously enough, and this time we'll be sure to be prepared!" That determined glint was in Hermione's eyes, causing Harry and Ron to share a pained look. Oh, well. What did they expect from Hermione, really?

"What do you have first period?" Ron asked around a mouthful of sausage.

"Potions with Slughorn." Harry pulled a face, with Ron regarding sympathetically. Harry was suddenly envious of his best friend for dropping out.

"That sucks. You'll have to be with Malfoy and all them. But at least you'll have all the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws too," Ron ended lightly, trying to balance out the horror that was having Malfoy and the Slytherins in a class.

A quivering sensation pulled at the bottom of Harry's gut at the thought of the grey-eyed boy. He pushed it aside, trying to hide his wince as Ginny waved and winked at him as she waltzed into the Hall with her friends. He still hadn't talked with her yet, even though she was getting more and more demanding about them picking up where they left off before all the Horcruxes and the battles. Just another thing Harry would have to deal with at some point.

"Harry, my boy! Looking as 'Golden' as ever!" Slughorn chortled, the fat folds under his chin bouncing. Harry was strangely hypnotized before a chubby hand slapped him on the back good-naturedly. "I hope to start up the Slug Club again this year, and you'll be on the top of the list, my dear man! Now, take your seat, class will begin in a moment."

Harry nodded, smiling weakly before ducking to sit with Hermione. Oh, how he'd forgotten the awkwardness of Slughorn and his greed with fame and fortune. "If the Slug Club is starting again, I'm dragging you back with me," Harry warned Hermione, watching her face twist in disgust. The two laughed with each other.

The doors leading to the dungeon opened, admitting a few Ravenclaws and the two Slytherins left in Potions – Malfoy and Zabini. Harry determinedly didn't look as Malfoy sauntered to his desk near the front, chatting with Zabini about something comical. Malfoy looked good when his eyes were sparkling with amusement and with his pink mouth curved in a precious, rare beam.

Malfoy seemed to sense Harry's intense eyes, as he turned away from Zabini for a moment, looking over the dark-skinned boy's shoulder to catch Harry's gaze. Draco shared a shy grin just for Harry before facing Slughorn as the professor cleared his throat. Harry felt a little dazed as the teacher began his speech about the importance of a Potions N.E.W.T. and the complexity and difficulty of the brews being covered that year. Harry watched the way Draco's expression shifted to one of honest excitement and boyish innocence.

Harry snapped his neck to only watch Slughorn, berating himself internally. Since when did he refer to Malfoy as 'Draco' in his head? And since when did he think Malfoy's expressions were _cute_? He rubbed a hand under his glasses and scrubbed his eyes vigorously.

Hermione watched her friend with a raised eyebrow and an inquisitive gaze flitting between him and Malfoy. _Curious_, she thought.

Slughorn, no doubt, thought that making his new eighth-years create one of the more bizarre, difficult potions in their book on the first day was perfect. Draco knew it was only going to lead to disaster.

*"This potion, the Draught of Letch, if brewed correctly, will allow you to see what your heart most desires. For instance, it could show you the name of a person or simply the word 'friendship.' The more specific the showing, the stronger the desire. For many, this potion has the same effects of a love potion – all the way down to the intoxicating feel of surrendering oneself to pure infatuation – as forced and fake as that infatuation might be." Potter and Granger shared some sort of look as Slughorn began blabbering about love potions. "But unlike love potions, it does not force feelings on you; the Draught simply makes you realize what your heart wants most. For those of you familiar with the Mirror of Erised," Draco, his eyes watching the reflection of Potter in one of Slughorn's many glass vials, noticed the Gryffindor's eyes became glazed with something like wistfulness. He wondered what Potter was thinking, before stiffening and berating himself for acting so obsessed with the specky git, "it will produce much of the same experience. Hopefully, this assignment will help motivate to achieve what you want, rather than stranding you to dwell on your dreams."

Slughorn shuffled over to his desk, picking up a short scroll, spidery, inky scrawl covering it. "Because this potion is so complicated, you will have the course of a week to complete it. You will have a partner whom you will work with throughout that time. This is a powerful potion and this assignment should not be taken lightly." Slughorn pointed a fat, sausage-like finger at the group of eighth-years. "I urge you to talk with your partners about your feelings, your hopes, fears, and so on - this will benefit you once you finally take the potion, as this Draught must be administered to you by your partner. The connection between you and your partner will allow your mind to sync with your heart, allowing a clear picture of what you really desire. This potion deals strongly with the complex partnership between our magical signatures and our emotions, so embrace your expressive side, boys." One or two of the teenagers groaned at the thought of having to be all sensitive and open with their classmates.

Slughorn ignored the lukewarm looks being shot his way. "Now, since I know all you of are eager to get started, here are your respective partners..." Draco groaned inwardly as Slughorn began reading off pairs from his messy scroll - with his luck, he would end up with some imbecile like Boot or, worse, the know-it-all herself, Granger. He shuddered at the thought of having to deal with her superiority complex for the next week.

"...Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."

Draco didn't even know why he was surprised anymore. _Of course_ Potter of all people would be his partner. Draco was just getting accustomed to the idea of being allies with Potter from afar – but this? No, this was taking it too far. Draco felt his stomach sink all the way down to his pale toes. _Great_, he thought, _time to be all weepy with Potter._

Slughorn flapped his beefy hands around as he began spewing instructions. "Please find your partner and start your potion. Ingredients and directions are on the board, with a more in-depth analysis on page ninety-three of your textbooks. At the end of class, leave your potions on the marked shelves in the back of the classroom. There will be a sign-up sheet in which you and your partner must fill in when you wish to come back to work on it." With that, Slughorn heaved himself up to his desk and plopped himself in his sturdy chair, picking up some second-year summer work to grade.

Draco reluctantly stood, receiving a sympathetic pat on the back from Blaise as the dark boy left to join his partner, Turpin, at her desk. The reluctant blonde turned, almost stumbling back and tripping over his seat, as Potter was standing right in front of him, watching with an entertained glint to his bright eyes. Draco just blinked at him for a second before hastily recollecting his Malfoy mask.

"Alright, Potter, let's get this over with," Draco drawled as he sat back down in his chair, flipping through pages in his textbook to hide the confusing blush on his cheeks. "Just try to look busy and don't touch anything." Potter made a noise that Draco could've sworn was a chuckle as he sat down next to Malfoy, resting his elbow on the desk, with his head leaning on his propped up hand. "I suppose I can trust you with gathering the ingredients?" Draco gestured to the list on the board at the front of the classroom.

"Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say," Potter replied dryly with a roll of his eyes before pushing himself to his feet and sauntering off to the supply cupboard. While Potter went to gather the ingredients, Draco polished his small silver knife as he looked around to see who everyone was partnered with.

Granger and Li, a Ravenclaw girl Draco recognized from his past Astronomy classes - no doubt they would make the best potion in the class. Well, besides his, of course. Abbot and Goldstein. Corner and Patil. McDougal and Jones. Brocklehurst and Finch-Fletchley. Blaise and Turpin; Draco watched his friend charm the girl with his smooth manner and chiselled looks. Draco just rolled his eyes Blaise's lady-killer ways. Lost in his observations, Draco jumped when Potter suddenly dropped all the ingredients on their table.

Draco hastily righted an overturned bottle of unicorn urine, turning to scowl at Potter's thoughtless attitude towards the precious ingredients. "Please, Potter, _careful_ - I would prefer to pass this assignment without having to kill you. Ambitious, I know." Draco tried not to feel too flustered when Potter just grinned back at him.

What had happened to the days when Potter would actually get riled up by Draco's taunts?

The class passed without any major incidents, with Malfoy having given Harry the job of cutting the Doxie bones and the monkswood into small, even slivers, while the blonde did everything else. Harry spent most of the class subtly watching the Slytherin become immersed in the world of bubbling cauldrons and simmering mists. Harry had never quite understood just how Malfoy was made to create potions, similar to how he himself was made to play Quidditch. It was just in their blood. At the end of the period, Malfoy and Harry left a stasis spell on their potion before stocking it on the shelves next to Zabini's and Turpin's cauldron.

The two boys stood next to the sign-up sheet on Slughorn's desk, shuffling their feet awkwardly and fiddling with the straps of their bags. Harry cleared his thought, pointing at one of the blank boxes on the chart. "Let's sign up for the slot just after dinner. Is that okay with you?" Harry asked tentatively, pulling a quill out of the side of his bag.

"Yes, yes, that's fine. Just don't be late," Malfoy replied distractedly. He was staring at Harry's cheek, where the Golden Boy had somehow gotten a stripe of gillyweed residue to stain the tan skin beneath the shadow of his round glasses. Harry froze as he watched Malfoy reach up to wipe the bottle green mark away with the soft pads of his fingers. The blonde's pale digits were just resting on the now-pink skin of Harry's face when Malfoy suddenly flushed. He quickly retracted his hand, stuffing it in his pocket as he blurted, "Y-you have something on your face, Potter. See you after dinner." The boy turned and hustled out of the room, Zabini hurrying after him with a puzzled expression.

"Well, that was odd. What was that all about?" Hermione inquired after Malfoy had left. Harry could only just stand there, gobsmacked, his hand reaching to touch where Malfoy's fingers had just been.

"I have no clue."

Harry told himself he would not try to figure it out by ignoring his classes and thinking about it all day. And he definitely would tell himself that he didn't like the way Malfoy's small touch had made him feel. He would tell himself the feeling in his stomach was just hunger. Yes, that is what Harry planned to do.

But, as Harry knew too well, things never worked out according to plan.

**End Chapter 4 **


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Again, written only for fun!

A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter...

**Chapter 5**

Draco sat in Ancient Runes, his head in his hands, bright pink skin peeking out from the gaps of his fingers. _Merlin, I must be going batty._ He practically had been c-_caressing_ Potter in Slughorn's classroom! What was wrong with him? Had he somehow ingested some fumes from the cauldron and become as hypnotised as the rest of the world by Harry _Bloody_ Potter?

Draco peered out of the openings between his fingers when someone plopped down on the seat next to him. Everyone knew that that seat was always supposed to be empty – it was one of Draco's perks of being a social pariah – he got lots space to put his books.

"Hello, Malfoy." Hermione gave the boy a polite smile before straightening her books on her desk. Draco just stared at her with an open mouth.

"G-Granger?" Draco's voiced cracked slightly. What was the intellectual centre of the Golden Trio doing sitting next to the school's pathetic ex-Death Eater? "Can I help you with something?"

"No, but thank you." Draco just looked around a little bemusedly, wondering if someone was trying to joke with him – but, no, Granger was just calmly sitting next to her one-time enemy, her eyes already on the board where the professor was copying down their homework from the book.

"Uh… alright," Draco finally concluded, straightening in his seat as the class began.

The class itself passed normally – some slight review from before the summer, and a healthy dose of homework to kick off the semester. Draco regarded Granger out of the corner of his eye throughout the lesson, waiting for some clue for the girl's sudden proximity. None came, however. The Muggle-born merely took thorough notes and responded to the questions dictated to her. Draco was unnerved.

The charmed clock hanging over the black board suddenly whistled a shrill note, signalling the beginning of the lunch period. The class of seven and eight-years collected their things, chatting and comparing the beginnings of their practice work of translating the ancient Celtic runes.

Draco was trying to stuff his thick textbook next to his extra Potions material in his bag when Granger cleared her throat behind him. He slowly turned his head, back stiff. "Um, yes, Granger?"

The brunette blew a strand of her bushy hair out of her face. "I hope we can become acquaintances, Malfoy, if we can never be true friends. If not for our own sakes and attempting to put the War in the past, at least we can try for Harry's sake." Granger just lifted an eyebrow at the return of the blush on Draco's high cheekbones.

"W-what do you mean by that?" Draco tried not to sound too squeaky. He failed.

"I _mean_, Malfoy, that I can tell that something has changed between you and Harry. I might not completely approve of the idea of him getting close with someone with as… _sticky_ of a past as you, but I'm one of his best friends and I'll support him till the end." The girl paused, a broken look flashing for a moment in her eyes. "And I most certainly do not blame an individual for the actions of their family members." Draco winced at the memory of his aunt torturing Granger in the Manor.

"Um, well, t-thank you for the opportunity to try and win back some respect." Draco tried not to think too hard about how his father would be sneering in disgust at the idea of his son thanking a Mudblood for a chance in the new world order of Lightness.

Granger gave Draco a small smile as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "You're welcome, Draco. Feel free to sit with us at dinner sometime. Oh, but Ron might be a bit of an arse at first." Draco blinked at Granger's unexpected vocabulary and offer.

"Um, maybe sometime," Draco muttered as Granger walked out with one last grin over her shoulder. The blond blinked at the door she'd exited out of, dazed, until the professor had finally ushered him out to lunch.

Draco walked unhurriedly down the long, arched corridor, enjoying the silence only such a deserted part of the castle could provide. He breathed, his hands curled in the pockets of his trousers, his eyes watching the sunlit blur of the land outside the windows. He really should go to lunch, but he was reluctant to return to his ever-lingering, chaotic fear of the rest of the school.

Merlin, he was just so _tired_.

"_Excaecatio doloris!_" An unknown voice suddenly shouted, laughing jeers echoing through the otherwise empty hallway.

Pain erupted in Draco's eyes as the Blinding Hex hit him, simulating someone jabbing their digits into his sockets. He cried out, collapsing onto his knees, clutching his face in his hands. Pounding footsteps raced their way towards Draco's wounded form, nonsensical, burning cheers and taunts mixing into the confusing swirl of pain.

"Come on, Abadeer, do it!" A harsh female voice rang out as Draco tried to pull his wand out of his sleeve, his sight still dark and throbbing in agony. A kick to his side knocked the wind out of Draco and forced him on his back.

"That's right, Death Eater scum! Stay down!" More loud, rash laughter assaulted Draco's ears as a heavy foot pressed down on his solar plexus, keeping him from drawing desperately-needed breath. "Ha, look! His face is turning all red!"

"Hey, wait a second, I wanna try something," a third voice announced as the pressure finally relieved on Draco's chest. Rough fingers clasped Draco's left wrist, shoving the sleeve of his robe up, revealing his Dark Mark. A couple of voices of the group gasped at the sight, while another just kicked him in the side again, forcing a pained groan out of Draco's otherwise-silent lips.

"Well, well. Let's see how you like your little Mark now, _murderer_," was the only warning Draco received before scalding pain seared through his forearm. Draco arched his back at the violent heat, his right hand scrambling towards his released left arm. He could fell warm wetness on his fingers and realized he was bleeding lightly. The smell of burning flesh, an odour only too familiar to Draco, wafted through the air, making the girl from the group cough in repulsion. _Must be some sort of spell that removes the skin_, Draco thought blandly, as though separated from the pain. _That has to be a Darker spell than one I ever used willingly…_

There was one last kick to his no-doubt bruised ribs before the hissing voices faded as the assaulters ran away, leaving Draco bleeding, blinded and broken in the middle of the corridor floor.

_At least they attacked me, and not Pansy, Greg, Blaise, Tracey, or Theo. Or, Merlin forbid, the younger Slytherins_, Draco thought as the black slowly faded to red in front of his eyes.

As the boy's sight finally returned completely, he winced as he tried to sit up to assess the situation. _Yup, definitely some bruised ribs. Maybe even a broken one._ He grimaced at the sight of his mangled arm, the sight of his scorched Mark slowly leaking clotting blood around the edges of the puffy, crimson burn. He'd been wrong about the spell – it didn't remove skin, merely cooked it all the way to the muscle. With a wry twist to his mouth, Draco thought that it was ironic how similar these kids' assault had been to the actual Marking ceremony. Practically little Death Eaters themselves.

Gingerly retrieving his wand from where it had fallen on the floor (_Thank Merlin they hadn't snapped it._), Draco cast a charm that would mimic the sensation of a continual wash of cool water over the area, without any actual mess being made. He also transfigured a sheet of parchment into a long, gauze bandage, then lightly wrapped it around his arm. Slowly getting to his feet, he tried not to sob as he strained his injured area on the side of his torso. He levitated his bag and things, not being able to bend over a pick them up. Then he stopped.

_What now?_

If he went to the infirmary, there'd be questions and faked expressions of concern. And pity. Can't forget the excessive amounts of pity. If he went back to the common room, he'd have to somehow heal from his wounds without any help and duck all the concerns from his friends. He could, maybe, sneak into Slughorn's room and steal one of the Restoration Potions in the drawer in his desk (same place that Snape used to keep them in case of an emergency), but he'd only have till the end of lunch to make it in there, and Draco didn't think he'd be able to move that quickly any time soon.

So who could he go to for help that somehow knew enough magic to help him, but wouldn't make him explain what had happened?

Then it struck him.

"G-Granger! Hermione!" Draco gasped, partly in relief and partly in embarrassment as he finally found the girl buried behind a tall pillar of textbooks. The Muggle-born looked up from her book, her expression changing from one of surprise to one of horror.

"Malfoy! What _happened_ to you?" She demanded as she shot out of her seat to help him perch on the table she'd been working on. Her eyes raked over Draco's red eyes, tear tracks from pain still evident on his cheeks; the way his leaned to one side, clearly having been injured on his side; the blood-soaked edge of his robe's sleeves, the end of a bandage peeking out from under the grey-vermillion clothe.

"It doesn't matter," Draco deflected as he avoided Granger's eyes. "Just – you know some healing spells, right? Can you please help me? I'm not really comfortable going to Pomfrey."

Granger bit her lip, her motherly instincts to help the injured and her womanly instincts of needing to know what had happened (not to mention her ever-present wish to merely turn the once-evil boy away and laugh at his pain) battling in her. She finally let out a defeated little sigh, flinching at Draco's whimper when she pressed her fingertips to his bandage. "Malfoy, I don't think I know enough to deal with whatev-" she gasped as she finished unwrapping the gauze, revealing Draco's scarred arm. "Oh my God! Draco, you need to go to Pomfrey! _Who did this to you?_" Draco suddenly felt very small in the face of all of Granger's righteous anger.

"Why do you care so much? I just need someone to help me who won't ask me to explain what happened. Please, Granger, can you at least heal my ribs? I think I might've broken one."

The girl puffed out a breath. "Fine! But this isn't the end of this, Malfoy! Now quit squirming and lift up your shirt." The girl winced at the sight of the purple-red expanse of skin, harshly contrasting the milk white of the rest of Draco's torso. Granger did a complex flick of her wrist, small, gold wisps of air floating from her wand to Draco's injury.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as warmth flowed through his side, the pain numbing to normalcy. "Thank you," he sighed.

"No problem, but I don't think I know how to deal with your… burn. You seriously need a professor to look at that, Draco," Granger urged sternly.

Draco breathed a harsh chuckle as he hopped off the table. "No way in hell is that going to happen. But, seriously, Granger, thank you. I owe you a favour in return."

Granger frowned, her hands on her hips in displeasure. "Yeah, you do. And I'll use it one day. Now go rest or something."

Draco's mouth twitched into a little smile. "Alright, I will. Thanks, Granger."

The Muggle-born watched the Pureblood hobble away, conflicted concern clashing in her warm, brown eyes.

Draco slept through the rest of the afternoon, not having the strength to steal some food from the kitchens, and he definitely wasn't going to that therapy session about the War. No way. The only reason he got out of bed at all as the sky was slowly painted rose was because he'd promised to meet Potter to work on the Draught, and he wasn't going to embarrass them both by ditching. Merlin forbid Potter actually try and hunt him down and see his wounds. The Chosen One would only bring Draco more unneeded drama.

Draco crept his way out of the eighth-year common room, flinching at any loud burst of laughter from a few of the students who'd returned from dinner early. The Slytherin's pale fingers plucked at the edge of his bandage unconsciously, the charred skin twinging at the slightest brush of his heavy robes.

Draco took the long, circuitous way to Slughorn's classroom, weighing the possibility of another attack versus running into one of his friends for a moment before taking the smaller risk of a second attack. A few rooms down from the room, Draco checked his appearance in one of the windows, casting a quick Reflection Charm on the glass. He winced.

His eyes were still a faint red, the swollen hollows of his sockets turning into dark bruises. His entire face was pale, well, paler than normal, at least. Draco pushed aside his robes to gaze at the side of his torso. It wasn't pretty. His chest and abdomen was nearly split in half, with one side being its normal light pink, while the other half was a dangerous carmine colour on the edges, while verging on purple in the middle. Draco sighed, stuttering on his breath as it stretched his ribs a little painfully. Granger might've done some preliminary healing, but Draco's body was far from healthy – and this was without even thinking about the damage to his arm.

Draco raised his wand to his faces, muttering the spell for a glamour softly. The dark splotches on his face immediately faded under a mask of Malfoy perfection. Another glamour for the bandage on his arm, and Draco was ready to face Potter and their working session.

Draco breathed out a pained chuckle. Yeah, _ready_.

**End Chapter 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harry Potter was running late. He, admittedly, had completely forgotten his meeting with Malfoy for their Draught. _But it's not like I don't have a good reason! _Harry made excuses to himself as he dashed down another flight of stairs.

After lunch, Harry and the rest of the seventh and eighth years had been instructed to stay in the Great Hall for the counselling session about the War. Harry had felt awkward and uncomfortable the moment the last few fourth years had meandered out of the Hall and the huge oak doors had shut with a loud _boom_. The Hall had been filled with hushed whispers and nervous laughter and there was movement at the Head table, with some unknown figure shuffling about. Harry had given up trying to look over the heads of the rest of his class in front of him and had turned around in his seat, with his back to the staff's table. He'd jumped slightly, as Ginny was suddenly sitting on the seat right next to his, where Seamus had been sitting a mere moment ago.

"G-Ginny?" Harry stumbled over her name, horror rising up in him as she gazed up at him with her big, doe-like brown eyes. He really did not want to deal with whatever 'they' were right now, not with all of the uneasiness in the air, not to mention being surrounded by everyone they knew.

The red-haired girl ignored the frozen, stiff posture of the Chosen One as she leaned into his shoulder, resting her head in the space between his neck and his clavicle. She sighed sadly, wrapping her arms around Harry's middle. "It's such a relief to finally share all this pain together, don't you think? So many bad memories…" She turned to look up at Harry's distracted face. "But we can get through them together, right, Harry?" Harry almost groaned in pain as he watched tears well up in his ex-girlfriend's eyes.

"O-of course we can. All of us, together," Harry deflected, desperately trying to think of a way to squirm out of Ginny's grasp without upsetting her more and making a scene. Already too many people were watching them – most of the girls were making goo-goo eyes and sighing in jealousy at the sight of 'the Chosen Couple' of the school, while most of the boys were wincing in sympathy as Harry frantically stared them down for help.

"Uh-hem." There was an echoing voice surrounding everyone in the Hall, and it seemed to come from the small, auburn-haired man standing on the middle of the raised platform where the Head table sat. "Hello, I am Angor Ancora and I'm here today to help all of you with the harrowing grief that inhabits each of you to this day, no matter how buried it might be." Harry was listening with half an ear, most of his attention focused on the tight pressure of Ginny's arms squeezing his waist a little painfully, and the overwhelming smell of her perfume.

"…Grieving is a personal and highly individual experience. How you grieve depends on many factors, including your personality and coping style, your life experience, your faith, and the nature of the loss. The grieving process takes time. Healing happens gradually; it can't be forced or hurried – and there is no 'normal' timetable for grieving," Mr. Ancora said earnestly, a strand of his red-brown hair falling into his eyes.

"Some people start to feel better in weeks or months. For others, the grieving process is measured in years. Whatever your grief experience, it's important to be patient with yourself and allow the process to naturally unfold…" To Harry, it sounded just like every other Emotion Magus he'd been forced to see after the War. Same old, same old.

"…It's a complete myth that it's important to be 'be strong' in the face of loss. Feeling sad, frightened, or lonely is a normal reaction to loss. Crying doesn't mean you are weak. You don't need to 'protect' your family or friends by putting on a brave front. Showing your true feelings can help them and you." Harry squirmed uncomfortably as Ginny squeezed him a bit harder.

"See, Harry? Don't hold back the tears," she whispered to him, fat droplets rolling down her flushed cheeks. Harry tried not to recoil in horror.

"However, it is also not true that if you don't cry, it means you aren't sorry about the loss. Crying is a normal response to sadness, but it's not the only one. Those who don't cry may feel the pain just as deeply as others. They may simply have other ways of showing it." Harry had to crazy urge to stick his tongue out at Ginny in spite, but he refrained.

Eventually, after a couple more cliché tips of dealing with the pain, and repeated reminders that the professors would be willing to talk whenever a student needed to (no matter that the few professors present looked as uncomfortable at the idea as their students), the hour of prattle finally ended. As the students were dismissed to their various classes or free periods, as was the case with Ron and Harry. And, unfortunately for Harry, Ginny.

"Wasn't that moving, Harry? He was so right! I _was_ feeling guilty about all those deaths during the Battle. I shouldn't have had such silly notions like I could've saved everyone!" Ginny said brightly as she wiped away some of her last tears. (_Finally, an end to all the weeping_, Harry thought thankfully.) "Wanna go hang out by the lake? It should be deserted about now," Ginny said with a suggestive tint to her tone. Harry was repulsed. She wanted to snog _now_? Wasn't she _just_ sobbing over all of the deaths of their friends and family?

"No, Ginny, I'm good. But feel free to go by yourself," Harry said a bit coldly, turning around to stomp up the stairs. A surprisingly fierce gripping his elbow before he could take a step, though.

"Harry Potter, don't you dare shut me out! I refuse to let you close yourself in with all of your pain and self-hate! I'm here for you! Depend on me and let me love you! We're made to be, after all!" Ginny said so passionately she was moved to tears again. A few stragglers watched with interest. Was the Chosen Couple breaking up?

"Right," Harry deadpanned before yanking his arm out of her grip. "I'll let you know when I'm tired of 'closing myself in with all of my pain'. You'll definitely be the first one I cry with." Ginny just stood on the bottom of the stairs, her mouth hanging open a bit, as Harry finally stomped up the stairs like he'd been planning a few minutes ago.

_Jesus Christ, why do all of the girls I date have to cry _all the time_?_

_Is it just all girls in general? But Hermione doesn't seem to cry, and Luna doesn't seem like the type… I seem to remember Ginny not being so weepy… Maybe that's how the War affected her? Hmmm… I should just quit with dating for a while_, Harry concluded as he made his way to the common room to brood for the next few hours, missing dinner and completely forgetting about his work-date-type-thing with Malfoy until Hermione asked Harry how he was back so quickly.

Harry panted for breath as he skidded to a stop in front of door to Slughorn's classroom – casting a Tempus Charm to see he was only ten minutes late. _Thank Merlin - maybe Malfoy won't be too pissy… Not likely_, Harry thought as he eased the heavy door open, shuffling in quietly, trying not to alert Malfoy of his presence too soon.

However, Harry couldn't see the blonde anywhere in the fading sunlight-lit room. He slowly walked forwards a bit, peering around some of the tables to see if maybe Malfoy was passed out on the floor or something. Stranger things had happened, after all.

Harry finally made his way up to the very front desk, his face suddenly blushing bright red as he caught sight of Draco's pert backside poking out from underneath the table as the blonde kneeled on his hands and knees, feverously trying to collect small button-like objects that had fallen under the desk.

Harry cleared his throat, trying not to startle Malfoy. It was a lost cause. Malfoy shot up, his head connecting painfully with the tough, wooden underside of the table. An impressively long string of curses wheezed out of the Slytherin's mouth as he retracted his body, wobbling slightly as he stood. His streaming eyes glared at Harry.

"Potter!_ What the fuck were you doing, creeping up on my like that?! And why the hell are you so late?_" Harry just smiled guiltily, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I had a lot of stuff happen this afternoon and this just sorta slipped my mind." Malfoy just narrowed his eyes, but eventually turned back to the work station. Harry breathed a sigh of relief at his release from the Slytherin's glare. The Gryffindor bravely neared the angered boy, peering around him to look at the simmering liquid in their cauldron. "It looks good," Harry said lamely, not quite sure how to get back to the timidly pleasant state his and Malfoy's alliance had been that morning.

"Of course it does. Hand me the two leaves next to the gurdyroot." Harry scrambled to comply, scrunching his eyebrows together as he noticed an odd, hazy-like air around Malfoy's features. Did Malfoy use magical make-up or something?

The two boys worked in silence for about twenty more minutes, the bubbling of the Draught and the thud of the knife against the cutting board just some of the other noises filling the otherwise-empty classroom.

"Read me the first part of step nine. It should be on page ninety-five," Malfoy ordered Harry suddenly, startling the dark-haired boy from the stupor he'd fallen into. Harry pulled out his textbook, flipping to the section.

"Um, it says that this is when the potion gets very spell-sensitive. We're supposed to remove any spells or curses on us, and keep any enchanted objects at least five metres away from the cauldron before we add in the next ingredients." Harry looked up at Malfoy, noticing that the blond boy had a shaken expression frozen on his pale face. "Um… something wrong, Malfoy? Do you have some forbidden object on you or something?"

"N-not quite," Malfoy breathed, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled out his wand. Harry watched curiously as the ex-Death Eater turned his back on him, performing some sort of charm or something with his wand. Then Malfoy just stood there, his back towards Harry still.

"You okay, Malfoy?" Silence. "What, afraid that I'll make fun of you without all your magical make-up on?" Harry just blinked as Draco's body twitched for a moment, before slowly turning.

Harry drew a sharp intake of breath.

Malfoy looked horrible. Huge rings of mauve surrounded the blood-shot, grey eyes, splotchy red beginning to cover Malfoy's cheeks as he flushed from shame and embarrassment. Harry's eyes raked over the slim boy's body, his gaze finding the tattered edge of a yellowing bandage falling from the sleeve of Malfoy's robe. Harry yanked the fabric up, pulling a pained groan out of Malfoy's throat. Harry could see the maroon stains of dried blood on the bandage, and could catch the slightest whiff of burnt flesh. He could guess what was underneath.

"_Who?_"

"W-what?" Draco stammered as he tried to pull back his arm from Harry's tightening grip. Dark emerald eyes blazed as they looked up to lock with Draco's. Draco shivered, from fear and something darker.

"I said, _WHO? _Who did this to you, Malfoy?"

A cry of pain ripped out of Draco's throat as Harry pressed down too hard on his wound, finally making Harry release Draco's arm. Draco looked down, mumbling something.

"What was that?" Harry demanded fiercely, part of himself wondering where all of this righteous anger for Malfoy of all people had come from.

"Why do you care?" Draco said petulantly, raising his grey-red eyes to Harry's clear, green ones. The two once-enemies stared each other down, both as stubborn and unyielding as the other.

"Because we're allies now, Draco. No one deserves to be tortured like this – no more pain because of Voldemort and his legacy. And whoever did this to you is no better than Voldemort."

Draco looked at Harry with something bordering hope, which strengthened the glowing feeling in Harry's chest.

"We'll catch these tormentors, Draco, and make sure they never bother you or anyone else again."

*For a moment, Draco really wanted to believe that Harry genuinely cared for him. For that blissful, delusional second, he let himself believe that Harry really wanted to protect him because he genuinely cared about Draco.

But then that moment was over, and Draco knew he was just the newest victim of Potter's hero-complex, the must-save-everyone thought process. He was just the newest object of interest in the field of people Potter felt the need to protect and rescue. Even with their so-called truce, Draco knew this wasn't the genuine act of friendship he'd foolishly hoped for from Potter after all this time.

Draco knew better than to hope for new chances, to really trust people anymore. That was something he learned long before the War.

Draco tore his eyes from Potter's intense, determined gaze, turning back to the Draught. "Forget it, Potter. It doesn't matter. Let's just get on with our potion," Draco stated dispassionately, leaving little room for argument.

The air in the room considerably cooled, silence filling in the many open spaces. Back was Draco's hard, Malfoy-mask, the façade he'd worn since his youth. Potter looked as if he wanted to protest, seemingly shocked by the sudden change in mood. Draco wanted to scoff at his baffled partner. _What did he expect? That I would willingly put all my trust in him - share all my failures?_ Things were better this way. He and Harry were never meant to be friends. The Fates had acted all those years ago in Madam Malkin's and the first train ride to Hogwarts, and who was Draco to disobey the Fates?

That small glimmer of hope he had when he and Potter had made the truce all those weeks ago vanished. Being attacked had woken him from this trifling reverie he'd been imagining these past weeks. Draco was always going to be a Death Eater and Potter would always be The-Boy-Who-Saved-the-Wizarding-World. Draco wanted to kick himself for being so stupid as to believe things could ever change.

"Malfoy –" Draco cut him off.

"Potter, just save it. Quit staring at me and just let me focus on the bloody potion." Draco threw a strand of Veela hair into the cauldron rather violently. "We should be almost done for the night, so don't worry, you'll be able to go back to being ogled by the rest of the Gryffindors in just a little while," Draco sneered.

"Come on, Malfoy. Why won't you let me help you?" Potter protested. Draco glanced at Potter out of the corner of his eye, noting that the boy still look confused and shocked. Draco battled the urge to sigh - it seemed every time they made some progress, something happened and they took two steps back. Potter seemed to search Draco's face for some sort of expression, to no avail.

"Potter, if you do not sod off, I'm going to silence you myself." Draco snapped. Potter looked hurt, his mouth opening silently as though to protest more, but after a beat, closed his lips, turning away to resume reading the directions silently from the potion recipe. Draco resented the small twinge of disappointment that flicked him in his gut. He ignored his idiotic feelings, turning his intense focus to the counter-clockwise stirs of the purple-blue liquid.

It was for the best, after all.

The two boys worked for another twenty minutes, only small, clipped phrases breaking through the harsh atmosphere. Draco was unable to resist the urge to wince when he accidently brushed his torso a bit too harshly against the table's edge. Potter watched him, concern in his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Soon enough, Draco couldn't stand the brief touches Potter and he would share as they passed ingredients or tools, the searching looks the Gryffindor would flash him when Potter thought he wasn't looking, the oppressive quiet that weighed on his limbs, clogged his lungs.

"That's all we can do today," Draco muttered as he cast the stasis spell before heaving the weighty cauldron back to their shelf. He determinedly avoided Potter's piercing stare as he exited the classroom, his shoulders slumped.

It was for the best. Truly.

**End Chapter 6**


	7. Chapter 7

*****Disclaimer: Do not own the characters and what not. Written only for fun!*

A/N: Hope you are enjoying it so far. Thank you so much for all the reviews! They are a joy to read and I promise to reply ASAP. Now for some more denial...

**Chapter 7**

Harry awoke with a choked shout, glimpses of his nightmare flooding his eyes as he groped at the sweat-soaked sheets around him. Panting, he sat up, pulling open one of the curtains of his bed to search for the water jug to quench his parched throat. The dark-haired boy glanced around the room, self-consciously looking to see if anyone had heard his cries. He had cast his routine silencing spell the night before, but, sometimes, if he yelled loudly enough, the noise would break through the barrier.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, the room still vaguely blurry before he pushed on his glasses. Everyone's curtains were still closed, all calm and peaceful. A small sliver of buttery light caught his gaze on the opposite side of the room. Through a minor gap in the dark grey curtains, Harry could see that Malfoy was propped up against his headboard, his legs crossed as he read a thin, Muggle-looking novel. Most wizarding tomes were thicker than Harry's head, after all, and only Muggles had paper-back books with non-moving pictures like the one he could vaguely see on the cover of Malfoy's novel.

Harry took this moment of inconspicuousness to study the tranquil blonde. He seemed so serene and content that Harry almost felt like he was intruding, a disturbance in one of Draco's rare moments of peace. This stolen instant was so different from the scene he had just seen in his nightmare - pictures of blood, snakes, and decaying corpses filled his mind once again, but Harry quickly rubbed a hand over his eyes, as though physically trying to wipe away the memoires.

Suddenly, as though Malfoy felt his interest, the Slytherin glanced up from the squiggly text of his novel, the two boys' eyes connecting from across the room - Harry took a sharp intake of breathe as the usually stony eyes met his. The typically-hardened features of Malfoy's face were open and vulnerable and it struck Harry that Draco was a truly beautiful person.

The moment drew on as the two once-enemies stared at each other in the room full of their sleeping peers. Harry assumed that he would get a scowl or at least an embarrassed look, but what he got instead made him feel like someone had stolen all the air from his lungs: Malfoy just gave him a small smile, a brief flashing of white and pink, before turning back to his book, oblivious to Harry's battling reactions.

Harry hastily shut his curtains again, flopping back on his bed with his hands curled in his bed-head. The breathless feeling continued, making him dizzy.

_What the fuck is going on here?_

Throughout the next day, Harry kept finding his mind travelling back to that small smile, piquing the curiosity of Ron and Hermione when his eyes would suddenly become glazed and he would lose the thread of the conversation.

Harry just kept telling himself that he was so obsessed with that honest grin only because it had startled him so much. _But it's not really the smile you're focusing on, is it, Harry? I think we both know that it was more about the person who was smiling at you…_ Harry desperately tried to ignore the sneaking, ever-present tone of his conscience, but he knew it was a fruitless cause.

It was at lunch when Harry finally thought of his plan, the sudden, inspired jerk of his head smearing ketchup on his chin. Hermione had glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes flicking down to where a certain blonde was shooting not-too-inconspicuous glances at her Chosen friend. _I'll just avoid Malfoy_, Harry thought with enthusiasm as he dabbed at his chin. _It won't have to be forever, oh, especially since we have to work on the Draught after dinner tonight_, Harry remembered, a little wrinkle forming between his eyebrows, _but at least I can try and get rid of these stupid thoughts_ _(– like how soft Draco's hair must be, how adorable he must look when he blushes, how sensitive his n –)_ _before we have to really interact again, _Harry decided resolutely.

The plan was fool-proof.

…Probably.

So during Defence and Charms, Harry kept his head down, diligently taking notes and focusing on the teachers – causing rather befuddled looks from the blonde who'd never quite realized just how often they'd been watching each other until it was over. Harry was vigilant, though, sticking to his rather ridiculously unrealistic plan and reminding himself, rather sternly, that he just needed time to think. Just some time with his own isolated sentiments. Time to analyse what was going on with his feelings directed towards Malfoy.

By dinner time, Harry knew that Malfoy was getting angry, the Slytherin's quick wits having deduced some, no-doubt convoluted reason for Harry's rather blatant lack of attention. The Boy-Who'd-Conquered-Death-Twice winced at the feeling of Malfoy's glare from down the thankfully long, busy eighth-year table. He'd have to deal with that after he finished the dinner that was starting to feel startlingly like his last meal.

…Maybe his plan hadn't been such a great idea – not only did he not have time to figure out his thoughts (and feelings), he'd only pissed off the object of his thoughts in the process.

…He should've just talked to Hermione. She was a girl; they just 'got' this stuff.

Harry dragged his feet, reluctantly pulling open the heavy door to the Potions lab. His mind felt off-kilter; how had he gone from a burning hatred of half a decade to this, well, not completely unpleasant feeling whenever he thought about Draco Malfoy? Harry sighed, taking that first step onto the cold stone floor of the classroom.

Malfoy looked up from where he sat at the front table, that oh-too-common peeved expression adorning his handsome features. "Oh, you are actually here on time, Potter. Astounding, really." Malfoy turned back to the bubbling gold liquid of their Draught. There was an icy tension chilling Harry to the bone – Malfoy was clearly pissed about being ignored all day. Harry felt guilty for about two seconds, before he realized he didn't owe Malfoy anything; it's not like they were friends, even, let alone dating. (And didn't that thought bring a slight flush to Harry's cheeks.)

Harry cleared his throat, pulling out the thick sheet of parchment from his bag before sliding to sit on the bench next to Malfoy. "Well, Slughorn gave us these 'partnership-building' questions last class period that we're supposed to, how did he put it, 'discuss and mediate over with our respective partners', so we should probably get started, right?" Malfoy hummed in agreement, still not making eye contact with Harry.

Harry sighed. "When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?" Harry winced at the cliché-ness of the question. He peeked at Malfoy over the rim of his glasses, not surprised at the nonplussed expression on his face.

"Honestly, how is this supposed to help us with our potion?" Malfoy muttered before tossing in a light sprinkling of pixie dust into the Draught. The blonde sighed before glancing at Harry.

"Well, you know, we have to be emotionally connected or something when we take the Draught, so, I guess Slughorn thought tacky questions would help, somehow," Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, I suppose. Well, I certainly did not dream of being a Death Eater, contrary to popular belief." Draco reached one hand up, ruffling his hair in an endearing way that made him look like the vulnerable boy who'd been reading Muggle novels in the early hours of morning. "All of the Death Eater stuff was thanks to my father – well, not even my father, really. It was all thanks to my grandfather, Abraxas; he was the cranky old bat who thought all that supremacy stuff was brill. We just got sucked up in it." Draco sighed, the breeze upsetting the few messed up strands that hung over the pale skin of his forehead. "Really, I wanted play Quidditch professionally, like most little kids, but now I'm not so sure." Draco looked up at Harry through his dark lashes, the open, non-threatening look causing something in Harry's chest to twitch warmly. "What did you want to be?" Malfoy asked gently.

Harry sighed, bad, blurry memories of young days of pre-school spent with Dudley stealing all of his crayons. "I can't really remember to be honest. It was probably something Muggle like being a fireman or a bobby. Jesus, I didn't even know I was a wizard until I got my Hogwarts letter." Malfoy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Around fourth year I figured being an Auror sounded wicked, but I don't think so anymore." Harry watched the Draught simmer, a bitter smile on his lips. "I've had enough battles with Dark wizards for a lifetime." Malfoy hummed in agreement.

Harry met Malfoy's gaze again. "I still want to help people though, so I was thinking about Healing." Malfoy seemed to smile encouragingly for a moment before turning back to the Draught. Harry blinked, surprised at how easy that confession came out of his mouth, the slight glimmer of a dream he hadn't even shared with Ron and Hermione. He hadn't realized at how easy it could be to talk to Malfoy, his once sworn enemy. "Um, do you have any idea of what you want to do now?"

"Well, people always seem to think I'll go into Potions, since that's what I'm good at, but I've always been interested in experimental magic – you know, the process of creating new spells? The theoretical magic involved, mixed with the physical application is just thrilling." Malfoy enthused, his eyes shining in a way Harry'd never seen before. The Slytherin suddenly blushed, the tips of his ears turning a bright pink. "But I'm sure you don't want to hear me wag my chin all night about stuff you don't even care about."

"No – I mean, that sounds interesting, Malfoy. I think it's good to have something you care passionately about." Draco grinned, that soft smile from the night before making a reappearance. It was perhaps even more dazzling in the full light of the torches of the classroom.

"Well, thanks, Potter. Um, what's the next question?"

Harry looked down at the sheet, some kind of vibrating feeling happening in his gut. Harry puffed out a chuckle at the next question. "Wow, this is a good one," Harry said dryly. "What is the fondest memory you have with your family?"

Malfoy grinned sharply along with Harry's tone. He looked away from Harry, his eyes focusing on some object across the room. "Hmm, well, believe it or not, life with my parents wasn't terrible at all, especially before the war; my mother is a rather witty person when she wants to be, and we just understand each other. And my father, well, believe it or not, Potter, he wasn't always a bastard. That little trip to Azkaban when I was fifteen helped evolve _that_ little part of his personality."

Draco paused for a bit, biting his bottom lip as he thought. "Oh, I know. It was the first time at our house in France, I think I was about six – it was snowing heavily and there wasn't a whole lot we could do outside or inside the house. The three of us just sat in the living room, playing chess, talking, and eating the take-out our house-elf had gotten us from our favourite French restaurant. It was warm in front of the fireplace, and we all just ended up falling asleep on the couch, all curled up together. It was the first time I remember seeing my parents give each other a little kiss in front of me. I'd never seen them do anything lovey-dovey like that before." Draco finally turned back to Harry, his expression causing that way-too-familiar feeling of Harry's stomach dropping out. "It was the first time I'd ever seen people truly in love."

Malfoy had that look of hopeful contentment on his face and Harry felt entranced - he snapped out of it once Malfoy looked to Harry with an odd look. The Slytherin seemed unsure whether or not to repeat the question to him.

"Oh, well, while I never knew my parents, I have tried to put bits and pieces together of them from the memories their friends told me." Harry paused for a second before trudging on. "This is kind of going into more than I would like to share, but fuck it - in first year, I came across the Mirror of Erised, and when I looked into it, I saw my parents smiling back at me. I know it's not much and it isn't even really a memory with them, but it's the closest I have." A potent, wistful feeling rose up in Harry as he gazed out the classroom's arched windows. "I was so happy in that moment, just to see them, even if they were mirages from a mirror." Harry looked across at Malfoy, feeling embarrassed for having shared such an intimate memory, but Malfoy didn't look like he was going to laugh and mock - he was looking at Harry with curiosity and something else that Harry couldn't quite read.

Then Malfoy cast a tempus charm and the look was gone, replaced by the normal, chilly Malfoy mask. "Oh, we've been here for nearly an hour. Do you just want to call it a night?" *Harry blinked, the sudden shift in mood causing him to feel a little unbalanced.

"Um, okay, sure." Harry watched Malfoy stow their cauldron away as he returned the few ingredients they'd had laying around on their table. Malfoy had a peculiar expression on his face when he thought Harry wasn't looking – he seemed… hurt almost, as though Harry had injured him emotionally somehow.

"Well, goodnight, Potter. I'll see you after dinner tomorrow," Malfoy said, still not meeting Harry's eyes as he slipped out the door.

"Yeah, goodnight," the door shut with a resounding _thud!_ "…Draco."

Draco walked slowly back to the eighth-year common room, his head bent as he watched his feet make the trek. _What the fuck is happening to me?_ One minute he's furious with Potter for being a cold to him all day and then he's feeling all _soft_ and squishy with him in the Potions lab? What the hell?

Draco sighed as he began climbing one of the many staircases leading up to the dormitories. That was some serious shit they were sharing with each other! What the fuck gives Har – _Potter_, damn it! – the right to make him think about things – and _feel_ things – he hadn't even thought about dealing with for years?

Draco glared angrily at the stone floor as it sped by, his ears heating up as he thought of the past hour. _Merlin, how could I have told Potter about that time in France? I even told him about my parents _kissing_! Salazar, I must be going barmy._

Draco suddenly crashed into something dark and solid, yelping in pain as he landed on his arse on the hard ground. "Jesus," Blaise cursed as he stood back up. "Draco? How did you not see where you were going?"

"Oh, sorry," Draco mumbled as he took Blaise's offered hand. He rubbed the warm skin of the back of his neck, awkwardly avoiding Blaise's curious look.

"Draco, what's wrong? Aren't you coming from working with 'Too-Perfect-to-Bother-with-Us-Mere-Peasants' Potter?"

"Don't call him that!" Draco snapped before making an odd choking noise and flushing. Since when had he ever defended Potter? Blaise was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Did Potter hex you or something, Draco? You don't exactly seem like yourself."

"I'm fine," Draco muttered, not looking at Blaise.

"Oi, look at me, Draco." Blaise reached out, lifting Draco's chin so that the two Slytherins' eyes connected. There was a perplexed little twist to the dark-skinned boy's mouth. "Draco, what did Potter do to you?" Draco blushed a little more, fuzzy, lust-tinged fantasies from the deepest part of twilight hazing his mind. _If only he would do something to me_, Draco's mind whined unnecessarily.

"N-nothing… I mean it!" Draco assured, seeing the scepticism in Blaise's eyes.

"Right," Blaise deadpanned. "Come on, Draco, I think it's time we had a little talk."

Draco gulped and followed Blaise.

"You think I've _what_?" Draco yelped, arms flailing as he tipped backwards off the bench, landing, hard, on the dark wooden floor of their corner in the library. Blaise just raised an eyebrow, turning the page of his Charms reading absently.

"Would you mind keeping your voice down? You know we can only sneak in here after-hours as long as Madame Pince doesn't hear or see us. Oh, and I _said_, you've _finally_ realized your white-hot, never-ending, time-consuming, rather-obnoxious-really, all-powerful passion for Potter… Do you need me to repeat it one more time, or did you get that?"

"I g-got that," Draco choked, feeling as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He clambered back onto his seat, face completely pink. What the FUCK was Blaise talking about? "What the _fuck_ are you talking about? Potter and I are allies – acquaintances at best – and you're suddenly blathering on about how I l-like him? Have you gone bat-shit _insane_?"

Blaise just watched Draco blankly. "Man, we all can see it – Merlin, you should just hear Pansy cut into you sometimes about how obvious your pining is, since apparently your lack of subtlety embarrasses all Slytherins or something – even Greg knows not to even bring him up, or you'll just go on and on for hours." Blaise grinned slyly at Draco. "And we've all heard who you call out when you wank."

"What the fuck, Blaise! That's completely ridiculous, absolute slander, the very idea is preposterous, ludicrous, disgu –" Blaise's eyebrow was receding into his hairline. Draco's face felt as though it was giving off heat, like it was the sun. "Okay, maybe I think Potter is… appealing – in a completely objective sort of way!"

"Uh-huh. Like how all the girls in our school look at him in an 'objective sort of way'?" Humour laced the dark boy's voice.

"That's, um, well, just sod off, Blaise! I don't like Potter! He's an idiot! A ponce! A complete tosser, really!"

"Well, he's definitely all those things – I'm just saying you like him in spite of all of that. And he seems to like you in spite of all of your faults, too." Draco mimicked a fish out of water as Blaise skimmed his page.

"I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH HARRY BLOODY POTTER!"

"MR. MALFOY AND MR. ZABINI – PLEASE GET OUT OF MY LIBRARY AT ONCE!"

"Well, fuck."

"Good going, Draco."

**End Chapter 7 **


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter (obviously); written only for fun!

A/N: Hope you are enjoying it so far. The support has been really awesome and makes my first long story so much better. The ending of this chapter is genius in my opinion and my favourite part of the whole story- written by my co-writer, 606! Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

Harry was awake, staring up at the canopy of his bed, when Zabini and Malfoy sneaked into the boy's dormitory, their breaths heavy, as though they'd been running. _Or perhaps doing some other rigorous activity_, the dark shadows of Harry's mind whispered, flashing images of dark and light skin twisted together. Harry frowned, pushing the thought away as he strained his ears for more information.

"You're still completely wrong," Draco hissed, the sounds of fabric rustling as the boys undressed for the night.

"Whatever you say, Draco," Blaise muttered wryly, the sounds of clicking trunk locks in the background.

"But, um, Blaise, what did you mean when you said Potter seems to…" Draco's voice lowered, inaudible to Harry on the other side of the room. Harry glowered at the darkness, wondering what the two Slytherins were talking about. Harry seems to… what?

Blaise's ironic chuckle floated to Harry's ear. "Look, Dray-Dray, I'm just saying that you and Potter deserve each other in your obliviousness. I can't wait to hear what it is you two see when you take the Draught this weekend."

"I honestly have no idea what you mean, but call me 'Dray-Dray' one more time and I'll kill you in your sleep… _Painfully_."

"Whatever, Draco. Goodnight."

"'Night."

Harry heard the two close their bed curtains.

What the hell had that been all about?

"'What do you enjoy doing in your free time?'"

"These are stupid."

"That's been established multiple times, Potter. Just share something. And pass me the beetle juice."

"Fine. Quidditch, I guess. And losing to Ron at chess."

"Weasel can really play chess? Wow, who would've expected that? I just figured he just sat around mooning over Granger all day."

"Hey! Don't talk about Ron like that! He's smart! Well, definitely smart than those goons you call your friends – do the names Crabbe and Goyle ring any – oh, um…"

"…Good job, Potter - you've actually succeeded in making this even more awkward than it already was. Give me that spoon."

"…"

"…"

"… Look, Malfoy, I'm sorry about Crabbe, y'know? He might've been into some bad stuff, but I doubt he was really evil like Voldemort."

"…Well, thanks for the thought, Potter, but it's not me you should be apologising to – his mother and baby sister, the only remaining Crabbe descendants, have to deal with societal-inflicted shame and verbal, with perhaps sometimes the addition of physical, abuse every day for their family's actions, all the while trying to just scrape together enough money, most of which was taken by the Ministry, to feed themselves. Oh, and not to mention they weren't even given the dignity of being allowed to mark tombstones at a wizarding cemetery for their deceased family members – no, apparently Death Eaters and their bastard children don't even have the right to be remembered after they were victimized and sacrificed for the same war your side fought on! _Now why the fuck haven't you handed me that spoon yet?_"

"… I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"I _just_ told you that you shouldn't be apologising to me–"

"It seemed like you were talking about more than just Crabbe, Draco."

"…Give me the goddamn spoon, Potter… Thank you."

"… You're welcome."

"'What hurts have you experienced?'"

"Um, what does that mean, exactly?"

"I dunno, things that've made you upset in the past, I suppose."

"Well, the obvious answer is just the sheer magnitude of death and loss from the War."

"That's not a very personal answer, Potter… Don't glare at me like that! You make me be all 'open' all the time! Now I'm returning the favour!"

"Well, then, this might take a long while, Malfoy, considering the list could start as early as when I was five years old and told that I was too much of a bastard to get to sleep in the old crib my cousin had broken, and was instead shoved under the stairs to sleep for the rest of my childhood. And that list could continue all through my years here, with the school constantly thinking I'm scum – like when they thought I was the Heir of Slytherin in second year, then that I was some cheater in fourth year – oh, and, of course, you helped with those feelings, Malfoy. How could we possibly forget our little spats? Oh, then my godfather dying, and the countless others I thought of as family in the next few years, let's not forget them. Is that _personal_ enough for you now, Malfoy?"

"…I'm sorry, Potter."

"…It's alright, you don't have apologise for everything."

"Yeah, maybe, but someone should."

"'What fears do you have?'"

"Isn't this question a little…personal?"

"That's sort-of the whole point, Malfoy. Now, come on, answer the question."

"…Fine, I'm afraid of dogs. Happy?"

"_Seriously?_ You're afraid of _dogs_? Out of everything in the whole world – all of the horrors we dealt with in the war – you're scared of _dogs_? Malfoy, are you _blushing_?"

"Shut the fuck up! Yes, dogs just bother me, okay? They're too big, and have too many teeth. What, and you think you're so tough, Potter? What about your whole dementor kink?"

"Hey, I never said I didn't have things that freaked me out – I just really didn't expect _dogs_."

"Fine! What did you want me to admit, Potter? That the mere _idea_ of my death can cause me to have a panic attack? That I'm so bloody _petrified_ of the dark that I just don't sleep anymore? That I'm utterly _terrified_ of my family and friends dying and leaving me to rot away by myself? That I have to live with the soul-crushing realization that I'm so completely alone, and that I can't share it with anyone else? Is _that_ what you wanted to hear?"

"...You're not alone, Draco. You're never alone."

"Yeah, right, Potter. I might not be physically alone, but there really is no one who knows all of the awful shit I carry around all the time… And no one who knew would stay around, anyways. I alone have to keep all these thoughts and fears kept inside, so as not to burden anybody else. You of all people should be familiar with the whole martyr routine, Potter."

"Draco, if your alone with all your dark thoughts, than we're alone together."

"…Thanks."

"'Do you ever wonder why you were born?'"

"Yes."

"…Care to elaborate, Malfoy?"

"Not particularly."

"Come on, Malfoy, you got to open up a little. We've already shared a good amount – what's the big deal about this question?"

"Easy for you to say, Potter – everyone knows why you were born: to save the British wizarding world from 'the Darkest wizard to have been seen in centuries', or however they describe old Voldy these days."

"…"

"_Fine_. Merlin, just don't look at me like that. I sometimes think the world would just be better off if my mother had just had a miscarriage with me too, like she did with the two babies before me. Maybe if my parents had never had children, they would've gotten out of the Dark Lord's clutches sooner, since he wouldn't have had anything to threaten them with. And, y'know, no one would've bothered you at school all the time – so you could've maybe converted more people to your side before they died – hell, I'm sure Greg, Vince, Pans, and Blaise would've followed you without a doubt if you'd just asked back then… And, well, that whole mess with the cabinet and Dumbledore back in sixth year would've never happened…. Everyone would just be better off if Draco Abraxas Malfoy had just been another one of those rose bushes my mother planted as memorials for the would-have-been Malfoy heirs."

"…I think we both know that's not true, Malfoy."

"No, we both don't know that! Everything would just be so much simpler if I just disappeared or died! No one would even give a fuck! Hell, why don't I just drink some of the Draught now? In its preliminary stages it's similar to the Draught of Living Death, after all."

"…I'd give a fuck if you were suddenly gone, Draco."

"…Really?"

"Really."

"'Is there anything you're afraid to talk about?'"

"My death. The one already passed, and the one that'll come one day… Really anything that happened the day of the Battle."

"…Potter, did you really die?"

"…Yes."

"Have you ever told anyone about what you saw?"

"No… Why? Are you going to demand that I tell _you_ now?"

"No. I respect that there are just some things that we want to take to the grave without sharing. It's our right to weigh down our souls with dark secrets - I won't ask you for yours, as long as you don't ask for mine."

"Huh."

"What's the chuckle for, Potter?"

"…It's just… it's funny how you seem to understand that so easily, while Ron and Hermione never get it."

"…You're right, that is funny… I guess we're more similar than we thought."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"'What things in your past do you wish you could change?'"

"…Everything."

"…Nothing."

**End Chapter 8 **


	9. Chapter 9

*Disclaimer: Again, do not own!

A/N: Sorry, apparently I thought Monday meant Tuesday this week. Here it is...the potion is finally done! Ah! Hope you enjoy! Only a couple more chapters left ):

**Chapter 9**

Saturday, the day that Draco and Potter were going to administer the Draught to each other, was a stormy, violent day – cracks of lighting cut through conversations and thoughts, sheets of pounding rain warding off any possibilities of escape to the outdoors. Many still tried however, as the few Hogsmeade weekends were not to be wasted.

So Draco watched from his seat on the windowsill in the Eighth-Year common room as tiny, particle-sized students marched out of the castle in the direction of the village, umbrellas sagging under the tons of rain streaming down from the heavens.

Draco sighed, leaning his warm forehead against the chill of the window panes. He was dreading that night, when he and Potter would head down to the Potions room to take the Draught, to experience the fruits of their labour before recording their visions for Slughorn to grade along with the rest of the sample of the potion.

They'd be alone – alone to share the thoughts of what they most desired. Alone to connect in a way Draco had never really connected with anyone before.

Draco reached up, tracing the shape of a lightning bolt in the condensation on the glass before quickly smudging it away. He and Potter had gotten _close_ this week, had shared things Draco was sure they'd never shared with anyone else. _We have enough blackmail material on each other to last a century_, Draco thought as he smiled crookedly at his reflection in the misted window.

"Oh, Malfoy, I didn't see you there," said a slightly startled-sounding voice from behind Draco. The blonde turned, only to see a bemusedly-grinning Potter staring right back at him. "What are you doing?" The Gryffindor asked curiously, peering around Draco's perch for clues.

Draco blinked, suddenly floundering for words. "Um, just thinking about the Draught – just checking that we went through all the steps and stuff." Potter nodded in understanding, rocking back and forward on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Um, well, it seems like neither of us are really busy, so how about we just go take the Draught now? It'll be easier while everybody's gone at Hogsmeade and everything." Draco blinked again, trying to think of some reason for why being alone in a dark classroom with a passion potion and Potter was a bad idea.

"…Sure, Potter, why not?" Draco finally succumbed, sliding off the window ledge and brushing non-existent dust off his robes. Potter just watched with a little grin before the two made their way out of the common room.

The pair was silent as they made their way down the dozens of flights of stairs, ignoring strange looks thrown at them from passer-by. Strangely enough, it was a comfortable silence between the two, no overwhelming pressure to make conversation. Soon enough Draco and Potter found themselves at the Potion classroom's door, the entrance conveniently unlocked. Draco slowly pushed open the entranceway, checking to make sure no one else was using Slughorn's room for their own project.

"Seems to be all empty," Potter said breezily as he sauntered in past Draco.

"Yup, we're all alone… Yay," Draco muttered sarcastically as he shuffled in after the dark-haired boy. Potter raised an eyebrow at Draco, but didn't comment.

"I'll just get the Draught," Potter suggested, pointing vaguely in the direction of the shelves on the side of the classroom. Draco just nodded, walking up to the front desk and pulling out the sheet of final instructions from his pocket. He collected two vials from the appointed drawer behind Slughorn's desk, turning back around to see Potter watching him from behind the front desk, a peculiar expression on his face. It made Draco blush for some reason.

"W-well, let's get started, shall we, Potter?" Draco neared the Draught, inhaling deeply at the amazing smell – the heady, warm aroma of freshly-baked, air-light pastries, the indulgent fumes of smooth vanilla, the fresh scent of the Quidditch field after the morning dew, the smoky smell of the air before a rainstorm all washing over Draco as he dipped a ladle into the raspberry-coloured liquid. He carefully spooned the precise amount into the two vials before carefully sealing the rest of the Draught with a spell, levitating it to the shelves Slughorn had marked for the finished brew.

"Wow, this smells amazing," Potter said as he raised the glass to his face, examining the finished potion and its properties.

"Well, it's supposed to have many of the same characteristics of a powerful love potion, so it makes sense that it similarly uses fragrance to attract takers," Draco explained as he leaned back to seat himself on the table-top of the desk, Potter taking a similar perch next to him.

There was a moment of tense quiet, the two boys, almost men, staring at the doses of Draught in their grasps. "So, how does administering this go?" Potter eventually asked the room. Draco swallowed dryly.

"Um, the instructions simply stated that we both have to drink it at the same time – no incantations or weird little rituals. Oh, and, of course, we have to pour it in each other's mouth."

"Oh?" Potter said blankly, staring at Draco again. "So what was the point of all that bonding stuff we've been doing, then?"

"That relates to the metaphysical aspect of the potion: the emotional and psychological clarity of our partner helps the foreign magic we each donated into the Draught combine more smoothly with the part of our minds and our souls that is related to desire, which helps our own magic draw out the vision of what we most crave. Simple, really." Potter simply blinked.

"Uh…right. Of course. So, um, how do you want to do this?" Potter gestured with the vial, gently bringing it closer to Draco's mouth. "Um, on 'three'?" Draco shakily raised his glass to Potter's lips, nodding. Potter let out a deep breath, the warm air misting the surface of the vial.

"…Okay. _One_." Draco and Potter pressed the rounded tip of the flasks to each other's bottom lip.

"_Two_." Draco parted his lips, a faint pink tinge rising to his cheeks as he saw Potter watch his mouth almost as if he was hungry.

"…_Three_," Potter whispered before the two tipped the phials, the cool, yet somehow scalding, potion washing over their partner's tongue. They simultaneously swallowed, both sets of eyes shut at the euphoric tingling that immediately followed the flow of liquid down their throats.

_Draco suddenly gasped, feeling as though he'd been underwater and was only just now able to take a breath. He opened his eyes, squinting at the sudden dim, orange light that illuminated the scene around him. He was staring at a fireplace – the chipped, dark stone fireplace of his family's vacation home in France, the arched windows he loved showing the first sprinkling of snowflakes drifting down the dark background. His pink lips opened in shock, his grey eyes scanning the familiar wall in front of him. "Baby, you okay?" A soothing, deep voice rumbled in Draco's ear, the warmth of two embracing arms around his shoulders making itself known. Draco stiffened against the chest pressed to his back. He slowly turned his head, mouth making a small 'O' in surprise at the burning green eyes that met his – eyes that were radiating contentment and something Draco had first seen in this same house many years previous – love. Harry grinned, reaching up to trace Draco's lips with a softly-padded finger before cradling the blonde's jaw in his calloused hand, pulling Draco's slack, shocked face towards his own. Draco's eyes widened at the first touch of their lips, his entire body clenched in astonishment. But, with the sudden addition of Harry's tongue gently tracing its way into Draco's mouth, the blonde melted, his mouth slack in an entirely different way, his slender body twisting around to straddle Harry's lap, his delicately-boned hands reaching up to intertwine with Harry's messy, dark locks. The two men eventually parted, their breaths stuttering as their bodies continued their attempt to coalesce into one. "Happy anniversary, Draco. I love you." Draco stared into those glazed, yet somehow fiery emeralds, feeling his throat clench up in an unavoidable epiphany of sentiment before he leaned back in for another kiss. _

_ "I love you, too, Harry."_

_Harry's eyes shot open, his heartbeat thudding intensely. He grimaced at the sudden onslaught of sunlight burning his retinas. The world was green. Well, and blue, now that Harry's eyes were adjusting. He was clearly on a Quiddtich field, as he could see from the hoops off in the distance, but it wasn't a field familiar to him. Birds chirped jovially somewhere far away and the buzz of insects filled his ears. "Come on, Papa, get your broom already!" A voice called from above his head. Harry's heart stuttered as he raised his eyes, his breath feeling knocked out of him as a young child who looked remarkably like him floated overhead on a small broomstick. "Daniel, don't be rude to Papa, you know he hasn't been on a broom since I beat him a few months ago," a smooth, kind voice lilted behind Harry. "Just go get Teddy; he'll certainly be better competition than your old Papa." Harry froze as a light hand rested on his shoulder, and soft, slightly chapped lips pressed quickly against his cheek. Harry turned his head, staring at the pale, lithe figure leaning against him, a squealing pink baby on his hip. "Oh, loosen up, Harry, I was only joking," Draco smiled softly, rubbing his thumb soothingly against Harry's shoulder. Harry regarded the infant cooing in his direction, the same shade of green eyes as he saw in the mirror watching him curiously. "What is it, Felix?" Draco beamed at the noisy little baby. "Wanna see your Papa play with your brother?" Felix 'aahed' in agreement. Draco turned back to Harry, his smile bright and open in a way that made Harry's heart flutter lightly. "Well, you heard him, love. Better go try and pretend you're still as good as you were back at Hogwarts." Draco leaned in, pressing a smiling kiss to Harry's lips as little Felix screamed in delight. "For good luck," Draco said against Harry's mouth before pulling away. "Daddy, stop kissing Papa and make him hurry up!" Daniel called again from the air, an aqua-haired, teenage boy now flying next to him. "Well, you three play safe! Love you," Draco said gently to Harry, his grey eyes shining with sincerity. Harry opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it before swallowing thickly with emotion._

_ "Love you, too, Draco."_

The two boys gasped, their eyes opening to see the dark stone of the classroom ceiling looking back at them. They were both on their backs on the sturdy wood of the desk, their legs hanging off the edge. The empty glass phials lay cracked on the hard floor.

Harry slowly sat up first, his glasses crooked on the end of his nose. He turned his head to look down at Draco's rumpled, flushed form, pink appearing on his own dark cheekbones as the haze of the Draught tinged the edge of his vision. "_Draco_," Harry's rough voice caused a shiver to run up Draco's spine, the predatory gleam in the dark-haired boy's eyes making Draco part his lips in intoxicated lust.

"H-_Harry_," he whimpered, his own memories of the Harry from his vision ghosting his senses, the feeling of those lips pressed against his haunting him. Draco bit his lip at the thought.

Something in Harry snapped.

He rolled over, his legs spreading Draco's to rest in between them. Harry grabbed Draco's wrists, roughly pinning them to the hard wood of the table. He kneeled on all fours over the blond boy, his black hair outlining his face in a dark border. Draco quivered as Harry leaned down, their noses touching as they shared breath. Harry growled in frustration as his glasses slipped, one hand reaching up to tear them off his face and drop the lenses on the table next to the two of them. With one arm free, Draco reached up thread his fingers through Harry's hair, pulling him back in.

The two paused, their faces so close they could feel the slight brush of the other's lips as they both panted. It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, a pair of grey eyes gazing into green. "_Harry_," Draco breathed, closing his eyes before tilting his chin up to finally press their mouths together. The Gryffindor growled, rolling his hips onto Draco's as the Slytherin slid his legs up to wrap around Harry's thighs.

"F-_fuck_," Draco gasped, his open mouth allowing the silky heat of Harry's tongue to entwine with his. The two boys groaned as Draco rolled his hips up to meet Harry's thrust down, the friction of their school trousers sparking pleasure up and down their spines. Draco's hands clenched into fists, pulling Harry's hair as he felt the edge of his pleasure get near. "H-Harry, I'm – I'm gonna –" Draco whined as he arched his back, his head thumping against the table.

"I k-know – I'm close too," Harry grunted as he trailed his tongue down the straining tendon in Draco's neck, sucking lightly at the exposed collarbone where Draco's robes had slipped. He bit down, the pleasure-pain of the roughness tipping Draco over the cliff he'd been so delicately perched on.

Draco froze, his body straining in an arch as he let out a low, strangled moan, the erotic sound giving Harry goose-bumps. Harry watched Draco's eyes squeeze shut, his mouth red and swollen from kisses, his normally cream-colored skin flushed a dusky rose. The sight, coupled with the noises still being torn from the boy under him, tipped Harry just a little too far, igniting his own fall into euphoria. "I love you, Draco," Harry huffed in Draco's ear as he collapsed on top of his quivering partner.

The boys' pants echoed in the otherwise silent room, their minds both blissfully blank for a few precious moments.

Draco suddenly stiffened, clarity that had eluded him for the past few minutes harshly reappearing.

"P-Potter." Draco flushed a little as his voice cracked from over-use. Potter didn't respond. "_Potter_." A grunt came from the hollow of Draco's neck, where Potter was resting, lightly sucking at the dark spot he'd made moments before. "POTTER!" Draco finally screeched, using all of his strength to finally roll the dark-haired boy's body off himself, luckily missing the hazard of Potter's glasses.

"Draco, what the hell?" Potter asked with confusion, shoving his lenses back on. His eyes pierced Draco, making it harder to ignore what they'd just done. Draco looked away, sliding himself off the surprisingly-strong desk to stand on not-so-strong legs. He tried ignoring the intense heat of his cheeks, instead turning his back on Potter and straightening his robes, trying to disregard the disgusting mess of his pants. He heard the thud of Potter's shoes against the stone floor, and soon felt the heat of one of those hands he knew the feeling of too well on his shoulder. "Draco, what's wrong?" Potter asked with concern as he tried to get Draco to meet his eyes, to no avail. "…I meant what I said," Harry finally stated, his hand trailing down from Draco's shoulder to rub along his upper arm.

Draco winced, his teeth suddenly on edge. "Get the fuck off me, Potter," Draco hissed as he made his escape for the door, leaving a stunned Potter behind.

**End Chapter 9 **


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I have no idea if I am supposed to write this everytime, but I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Oh the drama. Here we go. Only one more chapter after this- I can't believe it's gone by so fast. Hope you enjoy and I'll try to reply to your reviews! Thanks so much for commenting!

**Chapter 10**

Harry bent his head in confusion and a little bit of shame as he neared the Great Hall, his mind stuck about twenty minutes in the past. What the fuck had he and Malfoy done? _Though I guess I shouldn't call him by his surname considering we've made each other come_, Harry thought frankly as a sudden crack of lightning cast his face in stark contrast. _Whatever, what we did certainly didn't seem to faze Draco at all_, Harry thought darkly, the memory of Malfoy blowing him off standing out in his mind.

_Fuck, what the hell am I gonna do now?_

"Harry! Mate, where were you? We were gonna ask you if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with us," Ron said as he walked up to Harry, Hermione following close-by.

Harry awkwardly reached up to run a hand through his even-messier-than-usual hair. "Um, just taking care of some stuff for Potions," he explained ambiguously. Hermione raised a curious eyebrow, while Ron made a face.

"Ugh, with Malfoy? Sorry, mate." Ron stuck his tongue out in sympathetic disgust.

"Yeah, exactly," Harry muttered ominously, accepting a clap on the back from Ron, and not noticing the vaguely worried look from Hermione. The bushy-haired girl stayed a step behind the two boys as they discussed the chances of heading off to Hogsmeade in the rain, wondering to herself just what had happened between Harry and Malfoy that could suddenly make all the progress they'd been making these past couples weeks moot.

…She probably was going to have to talk to Malfoy.

"_Draco Abraxas Malfoy!_ You are going to talk to me _right this moment!_" Pansy said with a steely glint in her eye as she slammed the door of Snape's old bedroom open, startling Draco, who sat with his head cradled in his hands near the gusty fireplace. The boy startled, whipping his head around to look at his best friend for a moment before turning back to face the stone grate, reaching up to wipe across his eyes.

"W-what are you doing here, Pansy?" Draco's voice cracked slightly as he stood up from his perch on the lone stool in the room, straightening his robes so as to not make eye contact for a bit longer. Pansy stomped up to him, her hands on her hips as she stared at Draco intensely.

"I'm here because I've had to hear from _Blaise_ that you're having problems – _love_ problems – with _Potter!_ How could I hear about that from _Blaise_, Draco? _I_'m supposed to be the one you come to to bitch about how surprisingly awful of a shag Potter is! Not _Zabini!_"

Draco blinked a little blankly, his cheeks flushed. "Well, th-that's rather –" Pansy raised an eyebrow at Draco's mumbling, still unsympathetic. The flustered boy finally trailed off, keeping his bleary gaze stuck on his shoes, still feeling the ghosts of Potter's touches from a mere hour or so ago on his body.

"Well? Isn't there something you should be saying to me, Draco?" Pansy asked impatiently, tapping her heeled shoe against the cold wooden floor.

"We shagged," Draco breathed softly, barely a whisper.

Pansy stiffened just a bit, her miffed look shifting to one of confused shock. "Pardon me?"

"Potter and I shagged. Snogged, made each other come and everything." Draco finally looked up, staring at Pansy with pink eyes, the grey windows open in a way they only ever were around his closest childhood friend. "And I loved every second of it."

Pansy smiled a soft, sad little curve of her red-tinged lips, a deep understanding radiating off of her as she tugged Draco down to hold in her arms, rubbing his back soothingly as he clung to the smaller frame of his friend. "So, should I even ask why you're in here all alone, and not in the arms of Potter, enjoying the afterglow of a shag with the most desirable guy in all of the United Kingdom?"

Draco was quiet for a long time, tightening his grip on Pansy's now-rumbled robes.

"…He told me he loved me, Pans."

"…Ah."

Harry glared darkly into the caramel dregs of his butter beer, oblivious to the wary looks his friends were sending over the top of his bowed head. His mind was stuck on those stolen moments in the Potions lab, the mewls and gasps that Draco had somehow etched in Harry's mind – the way the Slytherin had sucked on Harry's tongue – the way his shirt had ridden up, revealing his smooth, toned stomach, the lightest trail of hair leading down into the silver lining of his pants – the way he'd choked out Harry's name before they'd kissed…

Harry sighed, dropping his forehead to _thunk!_ against the wooden surface of the table in the Hog's Head. Ron watched on with a confused expression on his face, Hermione with a more worried one. "Uh, Harry, mate? Is there something wrong?"

Harry scowled a bit more at the darkness of the table in front of him, before grunting out something like a 'no'. "…Ron, can you go get us some more butter beer?" Hermione asked sweetly, smiling gently at her boyfriend as he scurried off to comply. Hermione stared down at the dark mass of her friend's head, then exhaled noisily. "Harry, is this about Malfoy?"

Harry's back stiffened, before he slowly lifted himself up, so he could look at Hermione with a mixture of suspicion and something like shame. "Why would you think this is about Dr–Malfoy?" Hermione just looked at him for a moment, unimpressed, before Harry caved, his stoic expression crumbling into one of anger and hurt. "I suppose I should've known you'd figure it out."

"Yeah, you should've. Now, are you going to tell me what happened?" Harry glanced over to where Ron was talking with Aberforth at the counter, looking unburdened and happy.

"Fine, but I'm not sure I want to bother Ron with it yet." Hermione nodded in agreement, looking a little uncomfortable for a moment, but brushing past her qualms about sharing secrets with her boyfriend. Harry took a deep breath, his face heating as he tried to articulate his thoughts into words. "After Malfoy and I took the Draught this morning, we, uh, ended up… shagging. Sort of. And then he completely ran off afterward, even after I'd told him I loved him!" Harry hissed angrily, gesturing at nothing.

Hermione blinked in surprise. "Well, I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't that." She was quiet for a moment, watching Ron continue his chat with Aberforth. She turned back to Harry, staring into his dark eyes. "Do you really _love_ Draco, Harry? Isn't that a little sudden? I mean, you've hated each other for years, after all."

"I didn't really _hate_ him… He just somehow got to me, bothered me in a way that even Dudley hadn't been able to. I only just realized that only someone I really cared about could do that to me." Harry thought for a moment. "Okay, so maybe saying 'I love you' was a bit sudden, but I definitely feel _something_ for that stupid prick."

Hermione was quiet, watching Harry pout. "…What about Ginny?"

"What _about_ Ginny? Why does everyone just assume we decided to get back together?" Harry said angrily, barely remembering to keep his voice down.

"Well, you did promise her that after everything –"

"When did I promise her _anything?_ I told her that she wouldn't be safe with me, then ended it. I didn't make any promises, since I didn't even know if I was going to be _alive_ after the War, Hermione! There was sod all about Ginny and I getting back together after the War in that conversation!"

"Well, you're clearly the only one who thinks that way, Harry, and I suggest you clear up all of that before you even start to think about becoming romantically involved with one of the people who symbolizes everything everyone fought against and died fighting against in the War… who, you know, also happens to be a male, which isn't as accepted in the Wizarding world as one might think, especially in Pureblood societal views."

"What we talking about?" Ron asked cheerily as he plopped back down in his seat, pushing a bottle towards Harry and Hermione.

"Just the report Harry has to do about the Draught for Slughorn," Hermione lied smoothly as she kissed Ron lightly on the cheek, making his ears turn bright red. Harry groaned, dropping his forehead back on the table at the reminder that he still had to come up with something for that account for Slughorn – and that he'd have to run into Draco again at some point.

Merlin, could his life _be_ any more exhausting sometimes?

Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stretched out his cramped legs. He dropped his quill down on the table, making sure not to splotch his faked report about his account of the Draught – he'd come up with some nonsense about succeeding in his career and having a stable future (it'd felt similar to all of those made-up predictions for Divination he'd made a lifetime ago). He looked out the window, the library's view of the dusky-coloured night unimpeded by any towers or buttresses.

Harry tried remembering before he and Draco had snogged, before Slughorn had assigned the Draught, before the War, even, and just how different everything had been. How sensible and stable it all had been in a strange way, even though at the time, Harry had felt as though his life had never been so unpredictable. Harry chuckled bitterly to himself, tapping against the cold pane of glass subconsciously. How wrong he'd been.

Harry stayed like that for a while, his mind clear, determined not to dwell on this thing with Malfoy for at least a few moments. Eventually, though, he forced himself back into reality, into the place where Malfoy was still avoiding him, and where Harry was, once again, both the victim and the perpetrator of the situation.

Harry stood, raking all of his supplies off the table and into his raggedy school bag. Taking one last deep breath, enjoying the blessed solitude of the secreted-away corner, Harry straightened his back and began the long walk back to the eighth-year dorms.

He was on the empty staircases near the third floor corridor when he first heard it – muffled jeering, quiet _thud_s and, underneath it all, pained sobs. His heartbeat skipped for a moment, his mind flashing to Draco's bruises and pain from the other night – and the assailants Harry'd forgotten all about amongst the drama of everything else.

Harry took off running towards the sounds of the fight, withdrawing his wand from his sleeve as the noises grew louder. He ran past the hallway that led to where Fluffy once resided, and neared the open-air chamber next to it – the crescendo of voices now echoing all around Harry.

The dark-haired man skidded into the entrance-way, taking in the scene in the moment of time he had: there were four standing figures, all wearing the black robes of Hogwarts students, a flash of yellow and blue here and there identifying them as younger Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs; there was a kneeling student, her wand spouting some kind of inky, smoky substance that weaved around the forearm of the child whimpering on the floor.

"_What the _fuck_ are you doing?_" Harry roared as he flourished his wand, sending a silent, mass _Incarcerous_ on the attackers. The five students yelped as their bodies were enveloped with thick, binding ropes, pained grunts falling out of their mouths as they crashed to the floor, squirming. Harry Stunned the kneeling girl, her shout filling the air as she was sent crashing into the stone column behind her.

Harry stormed past the struggling, gagged teenagers, face hardening into a pained glare as he kneeled, vaguely recognizing the young Slytherin as the younger Nott son, a first-year who'd nearly cried when he'd been sorted into Slytherin with his older brother. The dark-haired little boy was curled in on himself, cradling his forearm closely to his chest.

Dark, glazed brown eyes flinched at Harry as he hesitantly reached out to lay a hand on the young boy's shoulder. "Hey, Conall, right?" Tears slid down Nott's face as he nodded vaguely. "Look, I know it hurts right now," Harry said, slowly, tentatively nearing Nott's wound with his other hand, "but we'll take you to Madam Pomfrey right away, okay?"

*Nott's eyes widened in horror. "Please! No! Just take me to Theo!" he exclaimed as the tears started to fall more steadily. Harry could only nod, wondering what this boy had gone through, what he had seen to be this scared of the Hospital Wing. He picked up the small boy in his arms, cradling the skinny, injured child close to his chest, trying not to feel the inevitable flashbacks of bloodied, screaming bodies covered in soot.

Ignoring his better judgement, Harry made his way up to the eighth years' common room, gasping for breath by the time he'd carried Nott up the multiple flights of stairs to the Northern Tower. Standing at the entranceway, Harry took a deep breath before muttering the password and stepping through the stone archway.

"Theo!" Conall called weakly from Harry's arms as soon as the injured boy caught sight of his older brother. The elder Nott looked up from his seat near the fireplace, with most of the other students sitting around the room gradually turning to watch the commotion as well. Theo jumped to his feet as Harry laid Conall down on one of the empty couches nearby.

"What the fuck happened?" Theo yelped, kneeling down next to his cringing younger brother, looking up at Harry with anger in his eyes. A crowd of eighth-years gathered around the couch, Hermione poking through the mumbling pack to inspect the cooked flesh of Conall's forearm.

"He was attacked by some younger Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs," Harry explained to Theo as Hermione whispered incantations. "I'm not sure what year they were, probably fifth or sixth. I managed to stop them, but they'd already…" Harry trailed off, knowing there was no need to finish the sentence when the evidence of what had happened was right in front of them, sobbing quietly as a Slytherin girl, Davis, helped Hermione transfigure some bandages out of a hair ribbon.

As his peers watched the tumult caused by the Nott brothers, Harry slowly eased his way back to the entrance, the squirming or knocked out attackers still on his mind. He was a few metres away when the wall dissolved, letting in Pansy and Draco, Pansy looking worried and Draco looking strangely flustered.

Something rough caught in Harry's chest as those grey eyes met his. The two boys stared at each other, a shimmering tension between them, broken only by Pansy's sudden gasp. "Oh Merlin! What happened?" She asked loudly as she shoved her way towards her friend at the epicentre of the mass of students.

"Some younger student attacked Nott," Hermione explained angrily as she rustled in her bag for some salve. Harry watched Draco's face, noticing the hard set of his jaw as the reality of the attackers really sunk in.

Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder, the red-haired boy watching the scene with a dour expression. "I'm going to McGonagall, alright? Tell Hermione if she asks."

"Oh, alright, mate. Good luck," Ron said distractedly. Harry brushed Draco's shoulder as he passed through the archway outside, hoping to avoid any confrontation. That could all wait a few hours.

Harry was only a flight of stairs away from the common room when he heard them – the steady _click, click_ of expensively-clad footsteps behind him. Harry stopped, nearby torchlight casting his face in harsh shadows. He slowly turned around, scowling at the pointy, determined face of Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Draco didn't respond to the growled question, merely stared back at Harry with a hard look in his eyes. "Go back to the common room, Draco!"

For a brief moment, Harry thought that Draco looked shocked, his bright grey eyes flashing with confusion and hurt, but the Slytherin mask returned as quickly as the emotion had come. Draco didn't respond, merely took a step forward to where only a few footsteps separated the two boys.

"I'm going to McGonagall too, Potter," he said simply.

*Harry scowled. "And what makes you think I need your help in telling McGonagall about the attack?"

Draco barked out a bitter laugh. "Who knows better than what those bastards did to Conall than me, Potter? If you think I'm just going to sit back and let everyone ignore the fact that Slytherins are being assaulted with no justice served against the perpetrators, you're even denser than I thought."

Harry felt a pang deep in his chest at the insult, not that it was particularly offensive, but from the fact that this argument felt too similar to the ones Draco and Harry had had way back when they were children fighting for ideals they didn't understand. _Are we still just two children fighting? Nothing more? _The thought made something in Harry crack.

"You didn't seem to feel this determined when you were the victim," Harry said angrily, taking a step back to put some distance between him and Malfoy.

"It didn't matter when it was just me, Potter; I know how to deal with pain and corruption. But the moment those sods went after the younger children they were dead men walking." If Harry hadn't been so mad at Draco, he would've fallen just a little bit harder for the blond boy with the steely glint in his eye when talking about the safety of the little Slytherin students.

But Harry _was_ mad. "Look, Malfoy, just stay with Nott, alright? I – we – don't have time to fight like this. I'm going to McGonagall, and you're staying up in the North Tower. That's it." Harry turned and began stomping down the hall again, nearly pulling out his wand in frustration when footsteps began following him once more. Instead, he simply breathed deeply and continued the walk, pretending as though Draco wasn't trailing behind him.

"Mister Potter? Mister Malfoy? What are you doing here at this hour?" Headmistress McGonagall frowned slightly as the two young men pushed open the door to her office, Draco following Harry into the semi-darkened room.

Harry swallowed as he walked up to the Headmistress' desk. "There's been an attack on one of the students, Professor. He was cornered by a group of fifth and sixth years and tortured." Professor McGonagall's severe mouth parted slightly in shock as she looked up at Harry from her chair.

"Good heavens, which student?"

Draco barked out a sharp laugh from the shadows near the door. "Is it any surprise that it was a Slytherin? It was Conall Nott, the younger brother of Theodore Nott, whose father was a known Death Eater. Is it really a shock that this little pack of Light-indoctrinated children decided to take 'justice' over ex-Dark Arts supporters into their own hands? Did no one see this coming?"

Harry and McGonagall both glared at Draco. "I'm not sure I appreciate your tone, Mister Malfoy. If you are suggesting that this school is actively going against the well-being of some of the students –"

"Well, does ignoring the obvious signs count as 'active'?"

"Draco!" Harry snapped at the sneering boy. "No one could have known that this sort of thing was occurring, so just back off. Even you didn't see this sort of thing coming, or you would've known to protect yourself when they attacked you!"

Draco flushed slightly in anger as McGonagall turned her sharp eyes to him, analysing. "Is this true, Mister Malfoy? Have you been attacked by this same group?" Draco said nothing, scowling fiercely at his shoes. McGonagall sighed. "Well, whether or not this has happened before, I must see Mister Nott and these attackers at once. I assume you know where to go, Mister Potter?"

Harry nodded, and soon Draco, Harry and Professor McGonagall were all hurrying on their way to the third-floor corridor. The three veterans stared at the mass of squirming, bound, and gagged students, McGonagall frowning sternly. She strode towards the group, circling the stone floor around them, picking up the various fallen wands.

She cast a quick _prior incantato_ on each, her jawing clenching as various Dark spells' shadowy echoes floating in front of her. "Well, I see that you both are correct in that this was an attack of grievous vindictiveness. These children will be dealt with most severely." McGonagall waved her wand, a shower of green rings encircling the grunting gang of extremists, the boys and girls immediately falling asleep, ceasing to struggle against their binds.

"Oh, '_severely'_. How comforting for Nott and the other Slytherins who might have been attacked. What, you're going to write to their parents? Give them detention? Forbid them from playing Quidditch?" Draco's voice dripped with derision, a mean smirk on his lips. "Oh, how _terrifying_. _That_ will teach the falsely-righteous, naïve, and gullible masses of this school from assaulting those who happened to be on the wrong side of the War, or are somehow mistaken for having been."

"So what do you propose, Mister Malfoy?" McGonagall asked with a raised brow. "I will be suspending all of these students from any Hogwarts affairs besides going to class, and will be informing the Ministry that this terrorist-like behaviour is to be marked on their records. Does this not satisfy your thirst for revenge?"

"No, it does not! Does no one understand the injustice of this school?" Draco eyes were wide with determination, his hands spread far out from his body as he gestured dramatically. Harry stood in the shadows behind Draco, a little apprehensive as he watched the scene unfold. "Does the fact that you all foster an environment that facilitates this type of behaviour not even cross your mind? That you say to preach love and forgiveness and rainbows and unicorns, but then you make being Sorted into the House that is tied to the losers in the War seem like a fate worse than death? That you made those of us with regretful pasts seem so unwelcome here that most of us didn't even return to finish our education? That the little ones are so scared of their classmates that they travel in packs? Are you really that oblivious, or do just not want to see the truth?"

Harry frowned as he stared intensely at Draco's back. _He has a point_, Harry thought, a little guiltily. Was it really fair that these students, most of whom were completely innocent, be punished for a War that both sides had already paid for with too many losses?

"Mister Malfoy, that is hardly the case. It is true some of the students here at Hogwarts are still feeling the effects of the War rather intensely, and are therefore seeking revenge, but this does not mean that all of the Slytherins are being prejudiced against and are being put in danger!" McGonagall said indignantly, appalled at the idea of such horrors occurring under her administration of the school.

"But you admit that there are students seeking revenge! If you knew of these plots, why didn't you do something about it?" Draco cried, his eyes wild. McGonagall frowned harder, trapped by her own words.

She sighed, rubbing the weathered lines on her forehead. "Mister Malfoy, I'm sorry but I believe you are searching for some grand conspiracy, but there isn't one. I had no knowledge that these horrible acts were being committed against my students, and, unfortunately, I probably won't have known unless you and Mister Potter had informed me." Harry noticed the broken look in the headmistress' eyes, and watched the passion leave Draco in a rush, the Slytherin's body seeming to fold in on itself.

"So, that's it?" Draco asked almost helplessly. Harry was glad he couldn't see his expression. "Those 'little pranksters' get a slap on the wrist and the rest of the Slytherins go on living in fear?"

McGonagall stepped closer to Draco. "Mister Malfoy, I will meet with the school governors and discuss this manner most thoroughly with them and the rest of the staff here. I assure you that we will not turn a blind eye to the plight of our victimized students here; you have my word."

The ex-Death Eater raised his eyes to meet the older woman's, the two sharing a stare for a long moment before the blond nodded slowly. McGonagall's frown lines softened slightly as she nodded back at Draco. She then swished her wand shortly, levitating the unconscious bodies of the attackers. "I will need your memories for evidence, gentlemen" McGonagall stated as she turned to leave the corridor. "Oh, and Mister Malfoy, please attend to Mister Nott: get him to the Hospital Wing immediately."

Draco nodded, throwing an unreadable glance at Harry as he walked past him.

Harry sighed, _thunk_-ing his head against the stone wall before beginning his slow trek to the Hospital Wing.

**End Chapter 10 **


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